


The Night Is Long

by accidental



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crime, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Abuse, rape/non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental/pseuds/accidental
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anders clutched at the fabric of Vael’s shirt, the bones and tendons in his hands visible, bird bones, white against his skin; a fistful of silk crushed like petals between his fingers. </p><p>Garrett’s own breath broke through the silence, harsh and trembling, and he realised he’d been holding it in.  He could feel the blood pulsing in his head.</p><p>I shouldn’t be watching this."</p><p>Garrett Hawke has an ulterior motive when he takes a job with the head of Starkhaven media.  He doesn't plan on Sebastian's lover getting in his way.</p><p>Modern AU, originally inspired by this prompt on the DA kinkmeme<br/>http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9086.html?thread=36983166#t36983166</p><p>With thanks to Lulamadison, and anonymouscatastrophe405, for all their help and encouragement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - this story deals with physical, psychological and sexual abuse. If you don't want to read about those things that's cool - just don't read and then complain about it afterwards!

Garrett Hawke looked out through the window of Sebastian Vael’s study.  
Lush green lawns swept down from the house towards a little grove of trees, and through the leaves he could just make out the flash of sunlight on the surface of a pool. There were even peacocks - at least that’s what he thought was making the harsh, slightly eerie cry he could hear in the distance. Garrett hoped the bloody things weren‘t nocturnal.  
  
He turned his attention back to Sebastian. The preliminary interviews had all been carried out by various members of Vael‘s staff, and this was the first time Garrett had actually met the head of Starkhaven media in person. Despite his best efforts, he couldn‘t help being impressed. Sebastian was even more handsome in the flesh than on television. He was immaculately groomed, with not a single chestnut hair out of place, a perfect golden tan, and eyes so startlingly blue that Garrett almost wanted to squint when he looked at them, as if he was staring into the sky on a sunny day.  
  
The job was a piece of piss.  
Vael explained that he spent a lot of time away from home; he needed someone he could trust to keep an eye on the place when he wasn‘t there. Garrett’s job was to know exactly who was in the building at all times, and to make sure the paparazzi were kept safely on the other side of the huge iron gates.  
Hawke knew he could do it with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back - no one knew more about security than a petty criminal who’d spent most of his life trying to work out ways around it.   
Of course, Sebastian would never have hired him if he‘d known about his background, but references were easy enough to fake, if you knew the right people, and Vael had seemed genuinely interested in some of the ideas Garrett had put forward during their meeting. He’d offered him a contract to sign almost immediately.  
  
Sebastian stood up, and reached out a perfectly manicured hand for Garrett to shake. “It’s good to have you on board, Garrett,” he smiled. “Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to Anders.”  
  
“Anders?”  
  
“Anders lives here with me." Sebastian cleared his throat. "He‘s my partner.”  
  
 Hawke was aware of the slight hesitation in the other man‘s voice, the subtle change in inflection, as if he was uncertain exactly what term to use. He followed his new employer through a hallway striped with jeweled sunlight.  The design of Vael’s mansion was modern and spacious, almost minimalist, but with an odd hint of gothic in the high arched ceilings and the stained glass that decorated some of the windows. As they walked, Garrett couldn’t help noticing the cameras that lined the walls, the red lights that blinked every few seconds, beady little eyes that tracked their progress through the hall.  
  
“All the corridors on the lower floor are covered by CCTV,” Sebastian explained. “The grounds, too. I take my security very seriously, Garrett. That’s why you’re here.”  
  
They entered a conservatory full of hothouse flowers imported from Seheron - pale, slender lilies, their necks dipping elegantly; orchids like bright birds. Tevinter roses with thorns like daggers and blood coloured petals the size of a fist.  
A young man lay sprawled across an armchair in a spill of sunlight, a book open in his lap. He looked up at their approach, and slowly removed a headphone from one ear.  
  
“Anders, this is Garrett Hawke  - He’s going to be looking after security for us.”  
  
Honey coloured eyes flickered up, barely meeting Hawke’s gaze before they fell away again. The corners of Anders’ mouth twitched awkwardly, into something almost too brief, too hesitant to qualify  as a smile.  
  
“Hi,” he said.  
  
 Garrett held out a hand, and Anders pretended not to notice.  
  
Sebastian rested a hand on Garrett's shoulder. “When I’m not here, I want you to look after Anders for me. If he needs to go anywhere, you’ll go with him. Do you understand?”  
  
Garrett noticed the flush that crept over the young man’s face at the words, the way he lowered his eyes to study the cover of his book.  
  
“Yes, Mr Vael,” he said.  
  
“Please Garrett, I can’t abide formality in my own home - call me Sebastian.”  That smile again; the flash of perfect white teeth, effortlessly charming and self-assured. In Lowtown nobody smiled like that unless they were holding a weapon, but this was another world, a whole new set of rules to learn, or to pretend he understood.  
  
Garrett was good at pretending.  
  
He smiled back, with just the right degree of deference for a young man meeting his new celebrity employer for the first time.  
  
“Thank you... Sebastian,” he said.  
  
  
***  
  
Garrett spent the next few days familiarising himself with his new surroundings.  
He walked around the grounds several times a day with Hunter, the huge mastiff that Vael kept as a guard dog; getting  a feel for the place and enjoying the quiet and the freshness of the air, a world away from the city streets he was used to.  
Vael’s mansion was hidden away in the hills just outside the city, the artfully landscaped gardens encircled by high walls; completely cut off from the world outside.  
 Garrett had been inside a few of the wealthy estates in Kirkwall, but he’d never imagined anything like this. His family lived in the slums, in a part of the city terrorised by drug dealers and loan sharks, where life was sold cheap and everything broke too easily.  
He felt the gnawing ache deep in his belly, the hunger and hatred that had eaten away at him for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t going to be enough for him to pay off his mother’s debts and get them out of Lowtown - he wanted more than that.  
 He wanted something like this for himself.  
  
  
Sebastian’s boyfriend was sitting by the pool, staring into space.  
Garrett had tried to start up conversations with him a few times, but Anders had been diffident and uninterested. He appeared to spend most of his time lazing around with his headphones on, amber eyes hidden away behind designer sunglasses.  
Garrett had him down as a snotty rich kid; a spoilt  pet, kept mainly for decorative purposes, like one of the ghostly white peacocks that stalked the grounds.  
  
He watched him for a while, taking in the sharp profile, the slightly sulky expression and the hint of stubble that contoured his face. Anders played with the bracelets he wore on his left wrist; hippyish bands of braided leather, glass beads and scraps of twisted cloth; odd and out of place, among so many expensive things.  
  
He looked up suddenly, noticed Hawke watching him, and looked away again, flustered.  
Garrett decided to have another try. If the two of them were going to be alone together for days or even weeks at a time, he’d to have to start making an effort.  
  
“What are you listening to? ”he asked.  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
Garrett gestured towards the wires that trailed from the young man’s ears.  
  
“Oh...” Anders blushed. “Nothing. It’s not switched on. It’s just… people leave me alone if they think I’m listening to something.” He looked embarrassed.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “ Do you want me to go?”  
  
“No, it’s… I don’t mind.”  
  
Hawke sat down, aware of the chill of the paving stones through the fabric of his trousers. It was still relatively early in the year, and the sunlight was deceptive;  there was no real warmth to it.  
  
The dog settled down next to him, its huge head resting against his leg.  
  
 “Hunter likes you, Anders observed. “He didn’t like the last guy we had.”  
  
“I like him too, he reminds me of the dog we used to have when I was a kid.”  
  
“Sebastian says he doesn’t want people getting too friendly with him - he’s supposed to be a guard dog.”  
  
Garrett shrugged; he couldn’t help it if the animal had taken to him. He leaned back on one elbow. Starbursts of light shimmered on the surface of the water; and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes.  
  
“I can’t get over this place,“ he said. “It’s so beautiful.”  
  
“Yeah, I suppose.” Anders’ tone was noncommittal. He lowered his head, dark blond hair falling down over his face, and started playing with his bracelets again, twisting them backwards and forwards between the fingers of his right hand.  
  
Garrett took the hint and got to his feet, and Hunter followed, his tail wagging eagerly.  
  
“See you later,” he said. Anders nodded, almost imperceptibly.  
  
 _Baby steps_ , Garrett told himself.  _At least he didn’t completely ignore me this time_.  
  
He turned and made his way back towards the house.  
  
***  
  
Garrett’s living quarters were in an annexe, attached to the main house by an office that contained the CCTV monitors, alarms, and the controls for the electronic gates.  
He settled Hunter in his pen outside and headed back towards his room, glancing at the monitors as he walked past, at the empty corridors caught in black and white, distant and otherworldly behind the glass.  
 A sudden movement caught his eye, a flash of white shirt as Anders walked into view, followed closely by Sebastian. Sebastian reached out and grabbed Anders wrist, pulling him close. His lips moved silently. Garrett thought the scene had an unreal quality, as if he was watching an old silent movie.  
  
Anders had his back to the camera. Garrett watched as Vael ran his fingers through the man’s hair, bringing them to rest lightly on the back of his neck. It made Garrett shiver a little, that touch; so delicate, like the touch of a shadow, a sigh against his skin; the way Anders tilted his head, leaning back into it.  
He almost jumped as Sebastian suddenly grabbed a handful of Anders’ hair and twisted it, jerking his head back roughly. Anders’ hands came up instinctively, as if to pull him away, and then hovered uncertainly in mid air as Sebastian forced him to his knees.  
Sebastian leaned his shoulders back against the wall. Garrett couldn’t see, but he could tell by the movement that he was unzipping his trousers. He gripped Anders head between his hands, pulling him forcibly towards him. A sudden wave of heat flooded Garrett’s body, unsettling him. He leaned forward, his face inches from the screen.  
  
Anders clutched at the fabric of Vael’s shirt, the bones and tendons in his hands visible, bird bones, white against his skin; a fistful of silk, crushed like petals between his fingers.  
  
Garrett’s own breath broke through the silence, harsh and trembling, and he realised he’d been holding it in. He could feel the blood pulsing in his head.  
  
 _I shouldn’t be watching this._  
  
He reached out and switched off the monitor, but the scene replayed itself, etched on the back of his eyes; the tilt of Anders head as he took Sebastian in his mouth, and the look on Sebastian’s face, his unkind smile.   
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Anders had trouble sleeping.  
  
 It was always the same - however tired he was, his mind wouldn’t let him rest. He lay wide awake, his thoughts tangling, memories replaying themselves over and over on a loop in his head until his skin crawled with self-loathing.  
  
When he did finally manage to sleep, it felt like drowning.  
  
Most mornings he got up as soon as the sky started to get light, and went outside with a mug of coffee and a cigarette, hoping the fresh air would clear his head.  
Dew soaked the hem of his pyjama bottoms. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the early morning scent of moss and damp earth. Grey sky, streaked with mother of pearl. The cobwebs that hung from the hedgerows dripped diamonds.  
  
Garrett Hawke was up early too. Anders was getting used to seeing him in the mornings, dressed in his sweatpants and trainers, running circuits around the grounds.  
  
Anders wasn’t sure what to make of Garrett yet. He seemed ok - a bit sure of himself, cocky even - but better, at least, than the last guy. Otto had taken every opportunity to sneer at him and make snide remarks, and Anders had seen him kick Hunter once, when he’d thought nobody was watching.  
  
Garrett kept trying to make conversation. He knew the man was only being polite, but every time he spoke to him, Anders froze like a deer in the headlights. He didn’t know what to say; didn’t want to presume friendliness or acceptance, only to see it gradually replaced by contempt as the truth sunk in and Garrett realised how pathetic he really was.  
  
He watched as Garrett stopped, bent over a stitch in his side. Sweat darkened his T shirt in circles beneath his armpits, and the damp fabric clung to his skin, accentuating the muscles in his shoulders and back.  
    
Garrett straightened up. He noticed Anders and grinned unselfconsciously, raising one hand in a wave.  
  
 Anders realised he’d been staring.  
  
He took a last deep drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in his empty mug. Garrett was coming over. Anders wished he had his headphones on. His face grow hot as he remembered telling Garrett about the headphone thing. He hadn’t meant to - he’d got flustered and the words had just sort of tumbled out. He was such a fucking idiot.  
  
 Anders watched as Garrett approached; the way he walked, easy and at home in his skin, confident that it could protect him.  
   
“Is there any of that left?“ He gestured toward the empty coffee mug, and  Anders nodded. He waited for Garrett to head for the kitchen, and began to feel awkward when the other man didn’t move, suddenly uncomfortably aware of his proximity; the heat of him and the sharp, slightly earthy tang of fresh sweat that rose from his body.   
  
“Do you want to go somewhere  later?” Garrett asked.  
  
“Like where?”  
  
Garrett shrugged. “Anywhere you want.” he said. “Sebastian’s in meetings all day and there’s not much for me to do here. I thought you might be bored, just hanging around on your own. Don’t you have family or friends you’d like to see?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Or we could go into the city,” Garrett tried  to come up with an activity Anders might enjoy. “ I don’t know… you could go shopping or something.”  
  
“There’s nothing I want.”  
  
Garrett glanced down at Anders bare feet, and the sodden fabric that flapped around his ankles.  
  
“You could do with some slippers.”  
  
 The amusement in his voice made Anders immediately defensive. He straightened his shoulders, and was surprised to realise he was at least the same height as Garrett, if not taller.  
He always felt so small.  
“Thanks,” he said. He focused on keeping his voice steady, doing his best to imitate the chilly, dismissive tone that Sebastian sometimes used so effectively.  “When I need your babysitting services, Mr Hawke, I’ll let you know.”  
  
He turned and walked back to the house, ignoring the humiliating prickle at the back of his eyes until he was safely out of sight.  
  
  
***  
  
On his first weekend off, Garrett visited his mother and Beth in Lowtown.  The flat that had been his home since they moved to Kirkwall seemed even smaller than it had before he left. It was as if he was noticing it for the first time - the tatty, worn out furniture, and the cheap ugly knick-knacks his mother filled the place with in an attempt to brighten it up.  
 It was suffocating.  
 He made his excuses and left before he had to.  
   
Outside the air was thick with smoke from the foundries; it seemed to cling to his skin in a greasy film. Ashes drifted onto the streets like snow.  
Garrett headed towards the Hanged Man.  
Varric was waiting at his usual table in the corner, a bottle of whiskey open in front of him. Hawke slid into the seat opposite. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back in one go, hoping the burn of it would loosen the knot in his belly.  
  
Varric leaned back in his chair.  “Looking good, Champ, “ he observed. “The country air obviously agrees with you.”  
  
Garrett felt himself beginning to relax at last. The Hanged Man had been a home from home to him, the last couple of years, and the smell of spilt beer and stale cigarette smoke was familiar and oddly comforting.  
  
“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” he said.  
  
 In his day, Varric had been a successful criminal lawyer - with the emphasis on the word criminal; he was as bent as a nine bob note. His career had come to an abrupt end when he’d been accused of presenting false evidence, and he‘d only escaped a jail sentence by the skin of his teeth. Now, Garrett thought, he looked every inch the flash Lowtown gangster, with his silk shirt unbuttoned slightly too far down, and a roguish glint of gold at his ears.  
  
“So, how is Kirkwall’s most eligible bachelor?”  
  
“I’m fine, thanks.” Garrett grinned.  
  
Varric chuckled. “You know I wasn’t talking about you.”  
  
“If you’re referring to Sebastian Vael, I wouldn’t call him that, exactly.”  
  
Varric raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard a few rumours,“ he said. “Care to elaborate?”  
  
“He’s got some guy living there with him.” An image of Anders’ face flashed into his mind as he spoke, sullen and sharply beautiful. His eyes, Garrett realised, were exactly the same shade as the whiskey in the bottom of his glass.  
  
“They managed to keep that one pretty quiet.,” Varric said. “ I guess there are advantages to owning the most powerful media empire in the Marches.”  
  
“Have you heard any other rumours?” Garrett asked.  
  
“There are always rumours, Hawke.“ Varric leaned forward to refill Garrett’s glass. “Mostly just crazy internet things  - conspiracy theorists trying to implicate Starkhaven in everything from nuclear missiles in Tevinter to the Antivan bird flu outbreak.  Real nutjob stuff, never anything you could prove. Why?”  
  
Garrett shrugged. “I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he said.  
  
“The only thing we need to know is that Vael’s got more money than he knows what to do with, and we’re going to find a way to relieve him of some of it.” Varric chuckled. “Do you think this boyfriend of his might get in the way?”  
  
 “I doubt it - he could even turn out to be useful. I thought I’d chat him up a bit, try to get in his good books.”  
  
“The old Hawke charm, eh?”  
  
“Never fails.”  
Garrett’s smile faltered; became a wry, sideways little twist of a thing, as he realised exactly how untrue that was.  
  
The memories were more painful than he cared to admit. It took another drink before he finally got up the courage to ask the question that had been playing on his mind from the moment he‘d walked into the bar.  
  
“How’s Fenris?”  
  
“Oh, you know what he’s like, Hawke - moody, morose, monosyllabic... “Varric looked uncomfortable. “I think he misses you,” he said.  
  
“He had his chance.”  
  
 Garrett couldn‘t quite keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice.  He’d known from the start that it couldn’t work - there was something not right about Fenris; something missing. He knew the bodyguard was capable of acts of staggering violence and cruelty, but he’d briefly caught a glimpse of something else, a passion and vulnerability, buried away like forgotten treasure beneath Fenris' icy veneer of calm, his impassive mask of a face.  
He’d let himself believe it made a difference.  
  
He’d made a complete twat of himself, obviously.  
  
  “Who knows what goes on in that head of his?” Varric sighed.  
  
It was getting late. They left the pub together, walking out of the fog of sour beer and cigarette smoke, into the cold, if not exactly fresh, air of Lowtown. Garrett took a deep breath. He looked around at the narrow streets, the alleys lit by stuttering neon advertising Lowtown’s tawdry pleasures; fast food, and cheap drinks for happy hour. ‘Gentleman’s clubs’ that no real gentleman would be seen dead in.  
  
“I don’t miss this,” he said, though right at that moment he only half meant it.  
  
 Varric clapped an arm around the taller man’s shoulders.  “In a years time you’ll be sitting on a beach somewhere, with scantily clad waiters bringing you cocktails on a silver tray,” he said. ”Kirkwall will feel like a bad dream.“  
  
Garrett hoped he was right.  
  
***  
  
 Garrett hadn‘t been asleep long when something woke him; a cry, echoing at the very edge of his consciousness, out of place and unsettling.  
It was probably only those damned birds, or one of the foxes that often sniffed around the outbuildings at night, but he was wide awake now. He got up, glanced briefly at the shadowy images on the CCTV, and then went  to check on Hunter.  
Outside the sky was too black; the stars glittered too garishly against it. Garrett  wasn’t used to it yet, the dense velvety hush of night away from the city. He still found it slightly disturbing.  
The guard dog wandered over to greet him, apparently untroubled by mysterious cries in the night, and Garrett started to suspect he might have dreamed it. “Sorry, mate,” he told the animal. ”I think I was imagining things. Go back to sleep, ok?”  
  
When he got back to the kitchen Anders was there, making a cup of tea.  He looked up, startled, as Garrett entered the room.  
   
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone else would be up.”  
  
Anders looked terrible; his face was ashen, his eyes red raw. Garrett noticed the way his hands trembled as he picked up his mug from the counter.  
  
 “Are you ok?”  
  
“Couldn’t sleep.”  
  
Anders voice was tense. He lowered his head, avoiding the other man’s eyes. Shoulder length hair spilled forward around his pale face, framing it in tarnished gold.  
  
“Is there anything I can get you?”  
  
Anders shook his head. “I’ve got some pills,” he said “ but I don’t like taking them, they make me feel…” His voice trailed off.  
  
“Ok, well, if you need me you can wake me up. I’m going back to bed.” Hawke  turned towards the door.  
“Garrett…”  
Anders took a step towards him, and then hesitated. He was obviously reluctant to be left on his own, and Garrett bit back the remark that sprang to his lips - Anders really didn’t look like he was in a fit state to be teased about needing a babysitter now. Instead, he asked “Do you want some company?”  
  
“Would that be ok?”  
  
The relief in the young man’s voice was unmistakable. Garrett sighed. Great - he was going to be sitting up all night watching reality television with a neurotic rich kid. And Anders really did seem like a kid, in some ways. The two of them were probably similar in age, but Garrett had been forced to grow up fast; his past was sculpted on his body, in scars, and in muscles hardened and worn like armour. Anders, in contrast, had an air of helplessness about him that made him seem younger than he really was. He looked like he’d never done a days work in his life.  
  
It was a pain in the arse, but if he wanted to gain Anders trust, he knew he had to be prepared to make the effort.  
  
“Sure,“ he said. “let’s watch some TV.”  
  
Sebastian’s study was smaller and more comfortably furnished than most of the mansion’s other rooms. It was almost homely. Garrett switched on the television, while Anders piled cushions in one corner of the sofa, as if he was making a nest.  
  
“Did Sebastian ask you to spy on me?” he asked.  
  
 The question seemed to come out of nowhere, and Garrett, caught off guard, wasn’t sure how to react.  
  
“Of course, you wouldn’t tell me.” Anders lips were a taut thin line in his face. He sat with his shoulders hunched, clutching his mug in both hands, as if he was trying to draw warmth from it.  
  
Garrett was suddenly uncomfortable.  “He asked me to look after you - it’s not really the same thing.”  
  
“Otto used to watch me.” Anders voice was low. The image flashed in front of Garrett’s eyes again, _Anders on his knees, his hands white against the crumpled silk of Sebastian’s shirt. Sebastian’s fingers knotted in his hair…_  
  
Guilt swelled in his chest. Desperate to change the subject, he pointed the remote and flicked through the TV channels, pausing on a dark landscape of neon and rain.  
  
“Have you seen this one?”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Blade Runner. This guy has to track down these dangerous androids. It’s good.”  
  
“Ok.” Anders settled back on the sofa, tucking his long legs beneath him, bare feet  against the antique leather.  
Even dressed in a robe and baggy sweatpants, there was something elegant about him; a grace and precision to his movements that made him look like a dancer. He lifted the mug to his lips with both hands, and the sleeves of his robe fell back, baring his slender wrists. The hippy bracelets were gone now, but something still glistened there, faint and silvery pale as moonshine, curled around his wrist like a snake.  
  
They sat in silence. Anders soon appeared to be absorbed in the film, but Garrett couldn’t concentrate. Instead, he found himself staring at Anders’ lips, mapping the curve of them with his eyes. They were parted slightly in concentration,  and he imagined Anders opening them for Sebastian’s cock; the tip of his tongue, pink and moist, teasing…  
  
  _What the hell is wrong with me?_  
  
Garrett forced his gaze back to the TV and kept it there, not really watching  as the film unfolded in a series of seemingly disconnected images; sequins and shadow, the dark labyrinthine streets, headlights skimming the sky like shooting stars.  
  
The replicant’s bloodied face filled the screen, doomed and pitiless.  
  
 _“Quite an experience, to live in fear, isn’t it? "_ he said. _“That’s what it is to be a slave.”_  
  
Anders made the tiniest sound, an almost imperceptible hitch in his breath that made Hawke look up at him. Patterns of light and shadow, reflected from the TV screen, played across his face. His eyes glistened, something raw and hopeless on the brink of spilling from them.  
 Garrett turned away, uneasy and embarrassed. He didn’t look back until the film was over and he felt Anders stir and stretch his legs beside him.  
 He got up, suddenly feeling the need to do something normal and comforting.  
  
“Do you want another drink or something?”  
  
Anders nodded. “Would that be ok?”  
  
By the time he got back, Anders was asleep, curled on one side with his legs drawn up against his stomach. It seemed a shame to disturb him. Garrett went to his room to fetch a blanket, and draped it gently over the sleeping man.  
He stirred as the soft wool settled over him, and lifted a hand to brush away something imaginary, and for the first time Garrett could clearly see the thick band of scar tissue, jagged as barbed wire, that circled Anders’ wrist.  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

It was another two weeks before Garrett had a chance to search Vael’s office.

Sebastian was flying to Orlais that evening for an awards ceremony. Anders had kept to his room all day, and before he’d left, Sebastian had told the household staff that the young man had a migraine and didn’t want to be disturbed.

Garret waited until everyone else had gone before letting himself into the office.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for. Any sort of financial information might turn out to be useful – bank accounts, share certificates, details of the many charities Sebastian supported - but Garrett was also looking for clues to the man himself. Even living under the same roof, Garrett still had very little idea of what sort of person Sebastian really was. Almost everything he knew about him could have come from his Wikipedia entry. 

Varric had made it clear to Garrett that he didn’t approve of blackmail. He thought of it as a blunt instrument - unpredictable, lacking any subtlety or style - but Garrett didn’t share the same scruples. Knowledge was power, as far as he was concerned, and there were times when the possession of a few incriminating, or just plain embarrassing, details was enough to tip the balance in the right direction.  
The head of Starkhaven Media couldn’t possibly be as squeaky clean as he appeared. Garrett wanted to find out who was hiding behind the carefully constructed public image. He wanted to know Vael’s strengths and weaknesses, understand what made him tick.

A search through the filing cabinets and the drawers of Sebastian’s desk proved fairly disappointing. Garrett used his phone to photograph a few documents and send copies to Varric, but he didn’t hold out much hope that they’d be useful. The computer was completey useless without a password – that was something he’d have to work on. 

There was a safe hidden behind one of the religious paintings on the wall, as if Sebastian had appointed saints and angels to keep watch over his secrets. Garrett was confident he could open it, given time, but a mechanism like that could take hours or even days to crack, and he didn’t want to risk trying while there was a chance of being disturbed. Surely Sebastian and his boyfriend had to leave the house together sometimes?

He was beginning to get itchy and impatient. The fact that he still didn’t have anything even vaguely resembling a plan made him edgy – he needed the buzz of low level adrenaline he got from putting a job together, from pulling in loose threads and weaving them into a pattern, a complex diagram of chance and probability in his head.  
He wanted to feel like he was doing something.

***

Anders made his reappearance late the next morning. Garrett found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a steaming pot of coffee in front of him. The cook was bustling around in the background, chopping vegetables to make lunch, and the room was filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. 

Anders still looked drained from his illness the day before, the skin beneath his eyes shadowed and dusky violet. He had a newspaper spread out on the table in front of him, and Sebastian smiled up at them from the front page.

Garrett pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Doesn’t he ever take you with him to these things?” he asked.

Anders shook his head. “He used to, before he got so famous.” He stared at the photograph; at his impossibly handsome lover smiling into the camera, one arm curled around the waist of an attractive young woman Garrett had seen on TV the week before. 

“He doesn’t want everybody knowing about us,” Anders said.” He says it’s no one else’s business. I think he’s ashamed of me.” He gave a peculiar little laugh, as if he was trying to turn the words into a joke.

“He must be mad.”  
It was easy flattery, the sort of thing Garrett might say to almost anyone without a second thought, but Anders bristled, visibly uncomfortable. 

“Please, don’t.” 

“What?” Garrett was confused.

“Don’t make fun of me.” His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. He looked away, not wanting to meet Garrett’s gaze.

“I wasn’t.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Anders looked up with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, I was just being stupid." He reached for the coffee and refilled his cup, then poured another for Garrett.  
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day,” he added brightly. “I think I would like to go out somewhere, if it’s still ok.”

Anders was an actor too, Garrett realised - just not a very good one. He sipped his coffee, and found it had started to get cold.

“Of course it’s ok. What do you want to do?”

“Sebastian used to take me to the theatre sometimes. I sort of miss it.”

“Ok,” Garrett smiled. “It’s a date.”

***

The streets of Kirkwall’s theatre district were strung with coloured lanterns. Garrett rested his fingertips lightly on Anders’ arm, not wanting to lose track of him among the crowd that were spilling out into the street. Anders stopped at the foot of the steps to light a cigarette, cupping his hand around the flame and leaning in close, his face half light, half shadow.  
The tip of his cigarette sparked and glowed.

“I’m sorry,” Garrett said.

“What for?”

“The play. You said you wanted to watch something happy – I had no idea everyone was going to die at the end.”

“It was amazing, I loved it.”

“I don’t know very much about the theatre,” Garrett admitted. “I didn’t even realise they made depressing musicals!”

“You didn’t pick up on the clue in the title?” There was a definite hint of teasing in Anders’ voice. Garrett decided he liked it.

“I don’t know, I thought it was probably meant to be ironic or something.”

Anders laughed, and Garrett thought it was the first time he’d ever heard him laugh like that, so open and unselfconscious.  
Anders finished his cigarette, stubbed it out against the wall in a shower of sparks. “We don’t have to go back yet, do we?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Good, because I could murder a burger,” he said.

***

The burger place was almost empty. Tinny pop music blared from the speakers behind the counter, and the air smelled of cold grease.  
Anders picked out a table next to the window and sat down, and Garrett joined him, placing the plastic tray of burgers and precariously balanced cartons of chips in front of them.  
The darkness reflected them back, the pair of them; Garrett’s dark head, Anders’ gold, haloed in streetlight and flickering neon. The people on the pavement outside passed through them like ghosts. 

They were overdressed for a fast food joint; Anders in a dark jacket, his hair pulled back and fastened in a ponytail, Garrett in his best shirt. He wondered if people might think they looked like a couple, out on the town together, stopping for something to eat on their way home to their shared bed. 

Garrett had never wanted that. He’d never felt the need to get close to anyone, before Fenris; wanted it even less now. 

Anders grinned. “It’s been ages since I did this.” He smothered his chips with ketchup, splashing it around until his food resembled a particularly brutal crime scene. He seemed like a different person, away from the house. Garrett had never seen him so animated. The bracelets slid backwards and forwards on his wrist as he gestured, waving a chip to illustrate something he was saying.

Harsh fluorescent lighting emphasised the angles of his face, the narrow jaw, the hollow cheeks smudged with stubble. He was too thin, Garrett thought, too fragile looking. There were places you could trace the brittle lines of bone beneath his skin, the blue webs of veins.  
Anders looked up from his massacre, and noticed Garrett watching him.

“What?” he asked.” You can’t have chips without tomato sauce.” 

There was a smear of red at the corner of his lips. He wiped it with the inside of his wrist.

Garrett looked away. He glanced at his watch - it was later than he’d thought. Sebastian would be back at the house by now; his flight had been due to land an hour ago. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you safely home to Prince Charming, before you turn into a pumpkin or something.”

***

As soon as they were out of the city, Garrett felt Anders begin to withdraw. He kept talking, making increasingly inane attempts at conversation, while Anders sat hunched in his seat, silently chewing the skin around his fingernails into ragged strips.

The iron gates closed behind them with a dull, echoing clash. Vael's mansion loomed out of the shadows, light spilling from the stained glass windows.

Gravel hissed and popped beneath the tyres as they pulled up at the back of the house. Anders let himself out of the car with a subdued “Thank you.”

Garrett smiled. “We should do it again,” he suggested. 

“I don’t know…”

Anders glanced over to where Sebastian stood waiting in the doorway; a shadowy figure, framed by the warm amber glow from the hallway.

“I should go in,” he said. He turned away, towards his lover.

Sebastian greeted Anders with a kiss; soft lips, the faint taste of whiskey on his breath.  
“I missed you," he said.  
He gripped Anders’ chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head back and kissing him deeply, sliding his tongue between his lover’ lips. His hand pressed against the small of Anders’ back, pulling him closer before moving down to stroke the slim curve of his arse through his trousers.  
Anders forced himself to relax. He leaned weakly against the other man’s shoulder, his face hidden from sight.

“Remember when we first met?” Sebastian murmured.

Anders nodded.

“You were shameless. You used to beg me to fuck you, beg to feel my cock inside you. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian’s fingers seemed to move with agonizing slowness, unfastening the little hooks at the waist of Anders’ trousers one at a time, sliding the button back through it’s hole, tugging at the zip. His other hand slid down to caress Anders’ arse, fingers slipping into the cleft between his cheeks, stroking him.

Anders began to tremble.

“Beg me now.” Sebastian’s breath was hot on his neck.

“ Sebastian…”

“Tell me you want me.”

The pad of Sebastian’s thumb pressed tight against his arsehole. Anders’ stomach gave a sick little flutter. Darkness beat against the inside of his skull. He tried to speak, but the sound that came out was more like a whimper.

He bit his lip, and tasted blood.

Sebastian laughed softly against his throat. “Fucking slut.”  
He pushed his lover back against the wall, pressed against him, hipbones grinding and the heat of him through his clothes, his hard cock. His voice was low and insistent.

“You’re mine, Anders. Say you’re mine.”

Anders closed his eyes. Black wings flapped around him.

“Yes, Sebastian,” he whispered. “I’m yours.”


	4. Chapter 4

Garrett hoped his relationship with Sebastian’s lover would improve, after their night out. He’d seen a completely different side of Anders in Kirkwall that night, and he was disappointed when, the next day, he seemed as distant and uncommunicative as before. Sometimes he got the feeling that Anders was deliberately avoiding him.

It was easier at night. 

After dark, it was a different world. Anders still had trouble sleeping, and Garrett often woke to hear him pottering around in the kitchen in the middle of the night. He did his best to ignore it, the first few times, but after a while he started getting up, pretending he was restless too. When Sebastian was away, the two of them would sit in the study and watch TV together until the early hours. 

It became almost a routine. They discovered a shared taste for old science fiction movies, and Garrett soon found himself trying to come up with ideas for films the other man might enjoy. Sometimes, Anders amused himself by mixing drinks for them. He told Garrett he used to work in a bar in Amaranthine, before he’d met Sebastian, and he enjoyed showing off some of the elaborate cocktails he’d made there. Hawke regularly found himself sipping garishly coloured concoctions with suggestive names, when he’d have been happier with a beer.

Garrett realised he’d been wrong to assume that Anders’ apparent loneliness made him an easy mark – if anything, the famous Hawke charm only seemed to make him even more guarded. But Anders was gradually becoming more comfortable around Garrett, and a hesitant sort of companionship was slowly growing up between the two men.  
They’d been working their way through the Alien series and had reached the final instalment -The alien queen had made her nest in the depths of the spaceship. Flesh covered walls dripped with slime, as the Xenomorph’s deadly offspring struggled free from the pulsating membrane that surrounded it.

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting.” Anders peered out from behind his hands. “I’m going to have nightmares about that for a week!” 

Garrett laughed “You need to man up.” He threw a cushion, aiming it in Anders’ general direction, and Anders caught it, swung it back at Garrett’s head. “Fuck off,” he grinned.

They were interrupted by the crunch and swirl of gravel, as a car pulled up behind the house, braking violently. Garrett couldn’t help noticing the way Anders tensed at the sound; the momentary flicker of something dark and fearful behind his eyes. “It’s ok,” he reassured him. “It must be Sebastian; no one else can get past the gates.”

The car door slammed; footsteps echoed sharply through the empty corridors, and then Sebastian appeared in the doorway of the study, looking tense and strained. His eyes were fixed intently on Anders; blue skies reflected in broken glass.

“I didn’t think you were getting back until tomorrow,” Anders said. “Is everything ok?”

Sebastian massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers, rubbing them between his eyes. “I’m going to bed, he said brusquely. “Bring me a whiskey, Anders.”  
He turned and walked off without waiting for a response.

Beneath his stubble, Anders cheeks had flushed a delicate rosepetal pink. “I’d better go.”

“You’ll miss the end of the film.” Garrett was half teasing. He couldn’t decide if it was funny or not, the way Anders had almost jumped to his feet to obey Sebastian’s order. But Anders was already half way across the room. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You can watch it without me.”

He hurried after Sebastian, leaving Garrett staring into the strangely human face of the monster on the screen.

***

The next morning, Garrett was up early, as usual. He went for his run, showered, and took his breakfast into the office, idly watching the CCTV monitors while he ate his toast.  
As he sipped his tea, he noticed Anders heading towards the conservatory, and decided to go after him. He was interested to find out why Sebastian had been in such a bad mood the night before, though he doubted the other man would bring the subject up.

He found Anders searching through a pile of books and magazines on the coffee table. He looked as if he was dressed for a summer picnic, despite the overcast sky, and Garrett was just about to make a teasing remark about the sort of people who wear sunglasses indoors, when Anders turned to face him.

The glasses did almost nothing to disguise the fact that his right eye was swollen shut, the skin around it the purple-black colour of over-ripe plums.

“I’m not going to ask about the other guy.” Hawke tried to keep his tone light and casual, but the words sounded hollow; dust and bones in his dry throat.

“I slipped,” Anders said. “Out near the pool. It’s really not as bad as it looks.” His smile was a thin pale line, like a papercut.  
Anders usually went out of his way to avoid eye contact, and there was something defiant about the way he looked straight at Garrett as he spoke, as if he was daring him to doubt his words.

Garrett couldn’t help it; he knew exactly what a punch to the face looked like. He was unable, for once, to think of anything to say; unable to tear his gaze from Anders’ bruised face.

Anders looked away first. He picked up his book and left the room without another word. 

Garrett stood there, shaken, seemingly unable to move, the heady scents of jasmine and lily making him feel slightly nauseous. 

He didn’t understand why it had bothered him so much.

It was none of his business.

Anders, after all, was wearing a watch that would have paid his mum’s rent for a year, and all he had to do for it was fuck the rich famous guy. For all Garrett knew, he might consider a black eye part of the deal. 

He thought of some of the jobs he’d done back in Kirkwall, just to put money in his pocket. Morals were an expensive luxury for a refugee trying to scrape a living in the city of chains. Maybe it wasn’t so different for Anders; maybe pride was something he’d decided he simply couldn’t afford.

Hawke had grown up knowing everything had a price. He knew Sebastian had chosen him partly for his looks too; for his muscles and his street thug smile, like the flash of a blade in a back alley.  
Still, the thought of it sickened him; Vael’s fist smashing into that fragile face, Vael’s hard, tanned body, pressing that pale flesh against the sheets…

His hands spasmed, fingers curling involuntarily inwards, nails scoring a line of bloody little crescents into his palms. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath. 

Whatever Sebastian and Anders got up to, it was nothing to do with him.

It was a job, that was all, and the sooner he finished it and got far away, the better.

***

Garrett didn’t find it as easy to forget about the incident as he expected. As the bruises on Anders' face faded, they only seemed to become more vivid in his mind.

He thought about the Sebastian he knew from the late night chat shows and glossy magazines – the dashing young entrepreneur who had taken control of Starkhaven under tragic circumstances following the death of his cousin Goran, and made the company an overnight success; the millionaire who spoke out on social issues and regularly gave away huge sums to charity.  
Sebastian didn’t seem like the sort of man who beat up his lover. He had always seemed like a perfect gentleman, and up until that night, Garrett wouldn’t have believed he could be anything other than charming and polite. But something about Anders performance in the conservatory made Garrett suspect it wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain away an injury.

He found himself watching the two of them almost compulsively, following their movements around the house on the security cameras, listening in on their conversations when they didn’t know he was near.

Although Sebastian always seemed caring and attentive towards Anders, Hawke began to see something else in his behaviour. His grip on the other man’s wrist was too tight; his kisses left marks on his throat. Garrett was uncertain; he half thought he could be imagining it, the tension in Anders’ shoulders, and the way he tried to hide his face when Sebastian embraced him; the careful way he held himself; as if he was trying not to flinch from his lover’s touch.

***

The days were getting longer, late afternoon sunlight stretching on into evening, tinting it with gold. Garrett was giving Hunter a run in the gardens after dinner. There was a scruffy old tennis ball the mastiff was particularly fond of, and Hawke was throwing it for him to fetch, wondering how much more gross it could get before he’d dare to replace it with a newer one, when he heard a scream from the direction of the pool.

The sound went right through him – he felt it like a jot of electricity down his spine. His heart jumped; it fluttered like frightened wings against the confines of his chest, as he ran instinctively towards the sound.

Anders was splashing about in the water. It took Garrett a moment to realise that he wasn’t struggling – he was jumping up and down and cursing the cold. Garrett watched as he took a deep breath and dived under, his movements suddenly graceful and precise. The surface of the water was dappled with golden light, intricate shadows of leaves and branches that fractured around him, sketching lace patterns onto his skin.

He swam a couple of lengths and then stood up, shivering. He had stripped to his underwear to swim, and the soaking wet fabric was almost transparent where it clung to his skin.  
He pushed rat’s tails of wet hair back off his face, and laughed out loud. “That was fucking freezing!”

“Come here.” Garrett picked up the towel Anders had left by the side of the pool, and draped it around his shoulders, rubbing the fabric briskly over the tops of his arms, where the skin was stippled with goosepimples. “You must be absolutely mad,” he said, and Anders laughed again. “I was bored.”  
Splinters of sunlight glittered in his honey coloured eyes.

Garrett was suddenly very aware of his hands on the other man’s shoulders. He took a step back.

“You should go and get dry; you’ll catch your death.” 

_Fucking hell, now I sound like my mother._

Anders pulled the towel around his bare chest. “You should come in with me next time; it’s fun.”

“I think I’ll wait till it warms up a bit,” Garrett said.

“Now who needs to man up?” Anders grinned at him, and turned towards the house. As he walked away, Garrett could clearly make out the imprint of a hand; spiteful fingers marked out in a yellowing bruise on the back of his thigh. His stomach heaved, anger bubbling up, acid and blistering, into his throat. 

He hated them both; hated himself even more, for letting them get to him.

***

Later that evening Garrett called Varric. He was surprised by the rush of relief he felt at the sound of a friendly voice – up until that moment, he hadn’t realised how isolated he was, away from the city and everything he knew. 

“What’s up, Hawke?” Varric must have picked up the disquiet in his voice. He was good at that – Garrett always thought he’d have made a great therapist, if he hadn’t been a habitual criminal. 

He sighed. “This place is starting to get to me, that’s all – these people, the fucked up games they play…”

Varric chuckled. “That’s just what rich people do,” he said. “Listen champ, things are looking good. I’ve set up a bank account for us, under the name of a fake charity, but I need some information.”

“What do you want?”

“I need details of Vael’s accountants. I’m planning to get a little bit… creative, on their behalf.”

“Ok.” Garrett was pretty sure the ex-lawyer could have got that information for himself. He suspected Varric was giving him something to do to keep him occupied, and maybe that was the best thing – focus on the job; forget about Anders and Sebastian and the fact that they were probably both as mad as a bag of cats.

“Keep your chin up, Hawke; it’ll be ok.”

“Yeah." Hawke tried to sound convinced.

When Varric hung up, Garrett didn’t know what to do with himself. He thought about going for a run, to work off some off some of the tension in his shoulders and back, then decided to have a couple of beers instead, and an early night. Maybe he’d wake up feeling better about things.

When the buzzer on the intercom system sounded, it took Garrett a minute to work out where the sound was coming from. If Sebastian wanted anything, he usually came down to speak to him in person.

He flicked the switch, and Sebastian’s voice crackled into the room.

“Garrett, I need you to come up here, straight away.”

“Is everything alright?”

Sebastian's voice was calm and perfectly steady.

“Anders is hurt,” he said. “I want you to take him to the hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh sorry that took so long and probably wasn't worth the wait - the next one will be better (and quicker) i promise!
> 
> Also, has anyone else watched that scene in Alien; Resurrection and just gone 'Broodmother!'


	5. Chapter 5

 

 Garrett took the stairs two at a time, his heart beating hard with the effort of trying not to run, trying not to think about what he might find when he reached the bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the harsh glitter of broken glass, starry and silver where it caught the light.

Anders was sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking visibly, and Sebastian knelt on the floor in front of him, holding a red-stained towel to his lover’s head.

There was a lot of blood; crimson petals scattered on the silk sheets. It was splashed in abstract patterns down the front of Anders shirt; matted in his bright hair.

“I think he needs stitches or something.” Sebastian’s voice was matter of fact, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him, the sheen of sweat on his upper lip.

“Let me have a look.”

Sebastian stood up to let Garrett take his place, squatting on his heels in front of Anders, mindful of the shards and splinters of glass that cracked beneath his shoes. He looked up into the injured man’s face, into amber eyes dulled and hazy with shock; pupils like black holes.

 “Are you ok?”

Anders nodded mutely. Garrett gently eased the towel away from the ragged cut in his forehead, and the blood welled up almost immediately, spilling scarlet over his hand.

  _Head wounds always bleed a lot,_ he told himself. _It doesn’t mean it’s serious_.  His mouth was dry. He lifted Anders’ hand and placed it carefully on top of the towel. “You need to hold this in place,” he said. “Keep pressure on it, ok? Do you think you can do that?”

 Anders nodded again, dazed and compliant. He let Garrett help him to his feet.

 Garrett turned to Sebastian. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I can’t.” Sebastian sat down heavily on the bed and ran trembling, bloodied, fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t.”

  _Fuck you_.  Garrett felt his jaw tighten. He led Anders out to the car and settled him into the back seat, pulling the seatbelt across the man’s body to fasten it for him. He didn’t speak again until they were away from the house, the gates safely closed behind them.

“What happened?” he asked.

Anders didn’t answer.  He seemed almost sleepwalking, barely aware of what was going on around him, but Garrett couldn’t stop himself.

 “Did he throw something at you? Was it an accident?”

 “What does it matter?”

 Garrett felt the tidal surge of adrenaline through his body; his muscles jerked and twitched with the force of it.  He slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator, much too fast for the winding unlit lanes, taking the corners sloppily and feeling the wheels jolt and shudder beneath him as they veered up onto the grass verge at the side of the road.

 “Garrett, please… you’re scaring me.” Anders’ soft voice cut through the white noise in his head. He slowed the car to a halt and sat back, hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

 “I think I’m going to throw up,” Anders said. He pushed the car door open, almost falling to his knees in the grass, his shoulders heaving. Garrett got out of the car and went to his side. He pulled the hair back from Anders’ face; felt it cling, sticky with blood, to his fingers.

  _Sebastian’s hand in his hair…_

Hejerked his hand away sharply, and Anders looked up at him. Cats eyes, yellow in the glow of the headlights.

 “Garrett?"

“Shh, it’s alright.”  The urge to comfort him was overwhelming; his arms ached with it. He placed the flat of his hand tentatively on the man’s back. Anders was all sharp edges, shoulder blades like little wings. Garrett spread his fingers, stroking gently in soothing circles, feeling the chill of Anders’ skin through his thin shirt, and the shivers that tore through him. He took off his sweatshirt, and draped it around the narrow shoulders. Anders let out a deep shuddering sigh. He leaned in close, resting his head wearily against Hawke’s chest.

 It was only for a few brief seconds, and the quickening of Garrett’s heartbeat felt more like fear than anything else.

 

***

 

They sat side by side in the hospital waiting room in uncomfortable silence. Anders still clutched the stained cloth to his head. His other hand hung loosely by his side, and Garrett was painfully aware of the inches of empty space between them, of Anders’ hand not quite brushing against his.

When the nurse eventually called Anders’ name, Garrett went into the toilets to wash the blood from his hands.  He leaned forward over the sink, resting his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, feeling a sudden urge to slam his head against it. None of this had been in the job description. It was ironic enough to be almost funny.

 Back in the waiting room, he thought about calling Sebastian to let him know what was going on, but decided against it.  Instead he bought a cardboard cup of thin, greyish coffee from a machine, and sat cradling it between his hands until it grew cold. His muscles ached with the after effects of adrenaline.He could still feel his hand on Anders’ back; the brittle curve of his ribs and the rise and fall of them under his palm;  the frantic heart beating just beneath.

He wanted to run.

 Hawke was a fake. He was a con man; he could look anyone in the face and lie through his teeth, and smile at them while he did it. Maybe if he just kept pretending, he could fool himself into thinking he still didn’t care. Because he couldn’t afford to care. Caring was really going to fuck everything up.

 After what felt like hours, Anders reappeared looking pale and washed out, a strip of gauze taped over his temple. He handed Garrett a printed leaflet. “It’s about head injuries,” he explained. “So you know what to do if I start acting strange.”

 “Am I supposed to be able to tell the difference?”

 Anders managed a shaky little smile that made Hawke’s chest ache.

***

In the car, Anders leaned back and closed his eyes. It was warm and quiet, and Garrett assumed he was asleep. He deliberately took the longest route through the city, driving slowly through the maze of narrow streets that made up Lowtown, past the stumbling drunks and the street corner whores, the gangs of boys with scarves pulled up over their faces and feral, frightened eyes.

  The streets gradually widened, the boarded up windows and huddled tenements giving way to a more suburban landscape of spacious gardens and tree- lined streets, until there were no more lights and the darkness swallowed them.

“They asked me if you were my partner,” Anders said quietly.

“What?” Garrett glanced in the mirror at Anders in the back seat, bone white, insubstantial. 

“At the hospital.  They thought you did it. They asked me if I wanted to call the police.”

“Fucking hell…”

The road, slick and shiny with rain, seemed to blur in front of his eyes. Garrett braked, and pulled over to the side.

 They were out of the city now, the black hills hunched around them like prehistoric monsters, the bare bones of trees reaching out to a sky too cloudy for stars. Garrett’s reflection stared back at him from behind the safety glass, pimpled with raindrops, wide eyed, ghostly in the dark.

“You could have told them,” he said.

 “You know I couldn’t.”

 They sat in almost silence, the shushing of the windscreen wipers the only sound, until suddenly Garret couldn’t stand it any longer. He was aware that he was making a dangerous mistake, even as he spoke the words that had been echoing round in his head since before they left the hospital.

“I don’t want to take you back.”

 “Don’t be daft, Garrett.” Anders sounded dog tired.

“No listen,” Hawke insisted. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go, but not back to him. I can‘t.”

“You don’t understand. There’s nowhere I can go, I‘ve got no one… “

_You’ve got me._

The words flashed into Garrett’s head, but he didn’t say them out loud.  They were just words - he didn’t even know if they were true _._

He didn’t want them to be true.

“Do you think I’ve always been like this?” Anders’ tone was bitter, his normally soft voice ugly with pain. “Do you think I’ve never tried to leave? He always finds me. He sends people to bring me back, and every time it just gets worse. I can’t…” He broke off, started fumbling in his pockets for a cigarette. Garrett reached over to check the glove compartment - there was a packet of cigarettes there and a lighter. He passed them back to the other man, and felt the trembling of his hands as their fingers touched.

“It’s my fault,” Anders went on. “I make him unhappy. After we… after he took over Starkhaven, it just... it wasn’t the same.”

“That doesn’t make it alright.”

“No.” Anders sighed.

 Hawke stared out into the darkness.  Raindrops shimmered behind his reflection in the window, streaming down its shadowy face. He almost laughed.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said bleakly.

 “Just do what he pays you for. It’s not your problem.”

“I want to help you.” 

“You can’t.” Anders’ face in the overhead mirror was blanched and stricken; utterly hopeless.

“Please Garrett, just take me home,” he said.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

**_Flashback: five years earlier._ **

 

He’s been looking at Anders all evening, the guy with the unbelievably blue eyes.

Their glances keep sliding past each other, eyes not quite meeting; the stranger keeps not quite smiling at him.

 Anders wonders what he’s doing there, sitting in the corner, all on his own. It’s a quiet night, just a few regulars propping up the bar; the alcoholics and the ones with nowhere else to go. Amaranthine is a backwater; it’s not the sort of town where people go out drinking in the middle of the week.

Sigrun has noticed him too. She nudges Anders, and mumbles furtively out of the corner of her mouth, like a spy in a cartoon. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ve pulled.”

Anders moves out from behind the bar and picks up a few dead glasses from the tables, leaning over a little bit more than is strictly necessary, making sure blue-eyes gets a good view. Even with his back to him, he can feel him watching; a tingle, like static, at the back of his neck.

When he gets back, the man comes over. He leans on the bar and the lights thread copper through his auburn hair. Up close there’s a glamour about him; his crisp white shirt and the silk tie loosened around his collar, the sharp flash of silver at his wrists.

 He takes Anders’ breath away.

Anders tries to keep his tone light and casual. “What can I get you?”

“Whiskey, please. No ice.”   The stranger’s accent is a soft burr, rich and smooth as honey on his tongue.  As Anders hands him his drink their fingers touch on the glass; the shock of skin against skin. Their eyes meet, and Anders can’t imagine how he’d ever thought blue was a cold colour; it burns.

 “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Anders is good at this; he does it without even thinking, the almost imperceptible emphasis, the lowered lashes and the suggestive little curl of his lips.

“You could come back to my hotel with me, when you finish work,” the stranger suggests, and his directness makes Anders laugh out loud. “I don’t know you,” he says.

“We could do something about that.”

“You seem very sure of yourself,” Anders teases him.

“Not really.” The man raises his glass and takes a sip of his whiskey, his bright blue eyes fixed intently on Anders. ”I just don’t think I can bear it, if you say no.”

Anders’ smile falters. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. It’s almost pathetic. If anyone else had said it, he’d have laughed at them, but he doesn’t feel like laughing now. 

“I’m not,” he says, confused, thrown off balance by the strange little flutter in his belly, the sudden weakness of his legs. He reaches out instinctively, and places his hand on top of the other man’s hand on the bar, almost as if he needs to steady himself.

 “I’m not saying no,” he says.

Anders gets a lot of attention, working behind the bar. Men, and sometimes women, flirt with him. They buy him drinks and he takes the money instead, and saves it in an envelope marked ESCAPE FUND, in the drawer beside his bed. Sometimes he goes home with them, more often out of a sort of vague, unfocused horniness than any real attraction. He likes feeling wanted.

 It’s better than being alone.

At closing time, Sigrun lowers the lights and starts stacking chairs on top of the tables, ready for the cleaners in the morning. Anders makes no attempt to help her. He pulls his jacket on over his cheap burgundy coloured uniform shirt, and glances around distractedly.

 “You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Sigrun rolls her eyes. “Dammit Anders, you’re such a tart.”

“What’s the matter darling? Jealous?”

“Obviously,” she lies. Despite the constant jokes and the seemingly endless queue of  people wanting to sleep with him, Anders never strikes her as being particularly happy. She secretly worries about him.

  ”Go on,” she sighs. “Get out of here.”

Anders bends down to give her a peck on the cheek, and hurries out into the street. Pinpricks of rain sting his cheeks as he looks around, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette, feeling slightly sick. 

  _I thought he’d be waiting for me…_

A taxi pulls up to the kerb directly in front of him. The back window slides down and Anders finds himself looking into the strangers’ face. He sees the way the man’s pupils dilate as their eyes meet; halos of fierce blue flame around a core of smouldering darkness. It shocks him, the heat and the hunger in them, and the sudden wild longing that stabs through him in response.

 He doesn’t think about it. He drops his cigarette on the pavement; pulls open the door and slides into the leather seat.

They introduce themselves in the taxi, almost shyly, Anders thinking how strange it is to be politely exchanging names when every second of not touching feels like forever.

 “Anders…” Sebastian repeats the name as if he’s tasting it, and the sound of it on his lips makes Anders melt inside.

“I’m glad you waited, I was afraid….”

“I thought you weren’t there…”

“Well, it's ok - we’re here now,” Sebastian smiles.  He rests his arm along the back of the seat, fingertips trailing lightly across Anders’ neck and under his hair, making him shiver.His other hand is on Anders thigh, tingling warmth spreading out from his fingers, meeting the growing heat at the base of Anders’ spine. It’s all he can do not to arch his hips, as Sebastian’s hand slides between his legs, his thumb stroking teasingly close to where Anders’ cock strains against the fabric of his trousers.

Sebastian’s lips brush his neck; a shiver of breath, hot against his ear.

 “Are you hard for me?”

Anders feels his cheeks growing warm. He nods, and swallows hard, not trusting himself to speak.

“Soon, sweetheart,” Sebastian whispers. His thumb circles higher, lightly brushing against the hard swell of Anders’ cock, and Anders can’t help it, he moans out loud.

He closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest, baring his throat to Sebastian’s lips.

 

 As soon as the door of the hotel room closes behind them, Anders has Sebastian shoved up against it, one hand tangled in his chestnut hair, the other tugging frantically at his shirt, pulling it loose from his trousers. He kisses him hungrily, hard enough to bruise.

Sebastian moans as Anders’ unbuckles his belt, snaking it free from the loops of his trousers and letting it fall to the floor. He reaches for Sebastian’s waist, drawing him close, pressing against him so that the other man can feel the urgency of his need.

“Slow down, sweetheart…”

Anders lets out a soft moan of frustration as Sebastian grabs his wrists, gripping them almost painfully. He twists around so that suddenly it’s Anders that’s pushed up against the door, his wrists pinned above his head.

“I want to take this slow.” Sebastian’s mouth is so close to his; he can feel the soft caress of his breath against his own lips. “I want to remember every second.”

“Ok…” 

 Sebastian’s lips meet his in a brief, impassioned kiss, heavy with all the promise of desires deliberately held in check. He leads him over to sit on the bed, unfastening the first three buttons of his shirt, slipping the fabric up over Anders’ head, and then down over his back, pinning his arms to his sides. Anders could shrug the restricting garment off if he wanted to, but he doesn’t try. Instead, an image flashes into his mind of his wrists bound tightly at his back, and the thought of it makes him breathless.

 “So lovely,” Sebastian murmurs, and there’s a rawness to his voice that makes Anders weak with excitement. He’s never felt like this before, so completely at the mercy of his own lust.

Anders is skilled at pleasing his lovers - it’s almost like a game to him, a performance; making them feel good, hearing them call out his name.

He always feels like he’s in control.

This is different. He’s not in control now, and Anders finds the idea strangely exciting. There’s something about Sebastian that makes him want to offer himself up to him, like a gift to be unwrapped.

Anders bites his lip to stifle a moan as Sebastian slides his trousers down over his legs, leaving him in just his underwear, the hard jut of his cock clearly visible through the white cotton. He rolls the fabric slowly down and takes the head of his cock between his lips, enveloping the sensitive tip, just for a second, in the wet heat of his mouth, before drawing back, leaving Anders gasping with need.

 Sebastian stands up and reaches for the bottle on the bedside table.

 “Do you want a drink?”

“Please.” Anders is breathless and shaking, unable to think of anything apart from the feeling of Sebastian’s mouth on his cock. He knows Sebastian is playing with him, enjoying making him wait, and he fights the urge to grab the man and pull him down onto the bed.

 Sebastian takes Anders chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilts his head back so that Anders is looking up at him, golden brown eyes hazy with lust. He holds the bottle to Anders’ lips, tilting it so that the icy liquid fills his mouth.  Anders drinks obediently, aware of Sebastian’s fingers, light as thistledown on his throat, tracing the movement of his adam’s apple as he swallows. Champagne spills over his chin, tricking down his throat and into the hollows of his collarbones, shining in silvery trails on his chest. He makes no move to wipe it away, keeps his hands still behind his back as Sebastian’s mouth claims his. Champagne kisses, cold and silky sweet, the slide of Sebastian’s tongue against his.

 Sebastian’s teeth close on Anders’ lower lip, pulling at it gently before moving down to lick his throat. He slides his hands down over Anders’ chest, bending to fasten his teeth sharply on a pale pink nipple, making Anders cry out helplessly.

“Beautiful Anders. let me look at you.”

Anders sprawls back against the silks and velvets, arms still pinned at his back by the dark red fabric of his shirt, white underwear pulled down around his thighs and his cock sticking up shamelessly, a string of glistening pre-come trailing like spidersilk between the tip of his cock and his belly.

 Sebastian’s eyes on him feel like a caress.

He spreads his legs, as much as the constricting fabric of his boxers allows him to, and hears the way Sebastian’s breath quickens at the sight of him.

 “Tell me what you dream about?” Sebastian says.

 _This,_ Anders thinks. _Something like this, someone like you…_

“I don’t know,” he says. "Why?"

 “I want to give you things you’ve only ever dreamed of.” There’s a rough edge to Sebastian's voice that makes Anders squirm with pleasure. “All the things you want, but never dared to ask for.”

 _Oh god yes fuck please…_  Anders hadn’t known it was possible, to want someone so desperately.

He whimpers, the tight aching of his cock both delicious and unbearable at the same time.

“Touch me, Sebastian, please… fuck me,” he begs, and Sebastian’s perfect lips curl in an amused smile.

 “I was waiting for you to ask,” he says.

 

***

  

The next morning Anders wakes up with Sebastian’s head on his chest, aching all over, his skin raw and sticky with sweat. He blushes red, remembering the night before.

 He’d never been fucked so perfectly. Sebastian had lavished attention on every inch of his body, taking him apart with greedy hands and exquisite fingers, the subtle skillfulness of his tongue, until Anders had been reduced to a quivering wreck, dazed and sobbing even as he begged Sebastian not to stop.He hadn’t known it was possible to come so many times in one night.

The memory is enough to make his cock stir again, brazenly nudging Sebastian’s thigh. He forces himself to get out of bed, extricating himself as carefully as possible from underneath Sebastian.

He stands up, scanning the messy room for his scattered clothing, and Sebastian stirs and reaches for him, taking hold of his wrist. “Come back to bed.”

  Anders groans. “It’s a nice idea, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not all rich, you know,” Anders reminds him. “Some of us have to go to work.”

“I’ll call in sick for you, if you like.” Sebastian grasps Anders’ hips and pulls him closer, breath like the flutter of dragonfly wings against his belly.

“One day won’t hurt. Stay with me, Anders,” he pleads.

“I don’t know…”

 Anders tries to protest, but he’s already lost. He lets Sebastian pull him back down onto the bed.

They don’t leave the hotel for days. Waiters bring their meals to the room; they bring steaming pots of coffee, bottles of sparkling water and ruby wine. Anders is embarrassed at first, by the state of them; their flushed faces and tangled hair, the stained and rumpled bedding and the heavy smells of sweat and sex that hang in the air.

They sleep and they talk and they watch tv, with their arms and legs tangled together, intertwined, and for a while, the whole world shrinks to the size of a four poster bed in a hotel room.

 They barely stop touching.

 Sebastian can’t get enough of Anders. He watches Anders as he eats, feeding him morsels of food with his fingers, letting Anders lick and suck the juices from his fingers, tracing the shape of his lips and his teeth. He watches his face as they fuck.

 No one has ever paid Anders so much attention before; he’s overwhelmed by it, drugged by the tenderness of Sebastian’s kisses and the touch of his long clever hands; the insatiable heat of his desire.

No one has ever made him feel so wanted.

He knows he would give Sebastian anything he wanted. This was what he’d dreamed of, all those nights when he woke up alone, racked with nameless longing, in the fading warmth of memories that were just out of reach.

He’d dreamed of belonging to someone like this.

He stretches himself out beneath Sebastian’s hands, a rag doll boy, soft and compliant, beautifully responsive to every touch, every whispered demand.

 

The first time Sebastian tells him he loves him, he says it between kisses, his lips red and bitten, his face raw from Anders’ stubble.

 Nobody has ever said those words to him before. He never imagined they’d feel like this, like a body blow or the twist of a blade in his heart. He turns away onto his side, before Sebastian can see the tears in his eyes.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks. “What am I doing?”

 

Sebastian wants to know everything about him. It’s difficult at first - Anders is almost willfully shallow; he’s spent years avoiding thinking about anything that makes him uncomfortable, piecing together an elaborate armour out of brittle, bitchy humour and feigned indifference. But Sebastian isn’t taken in; he coaxes the words out slowly, relentlessly, the same way he teases the pleasure from Anders’ flesh, and Anders is surprised to find that it feels like a release.

He tells him about the fire that killed his parents when he was twelve, about growing up in the children’s home, looked after by people who cared because they were paid to, and never feeling like he belonged anywhere. He tells him he’s saving up to go to Antiva. His friend Alim from the children’s home is working in a club out there and reckons he can get him a job.

“I’ll take you to Antiva,” Sebastian promises. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I’ll look after you."

They talk and they sleep and they fuck, and day turns to night, and then back to day again, soft light filtering in through the curtains, filling the room with a golden haze. Sebastian tips some white powder from a twist of silver foil into a little mound on the bedside table. Anders watches in silence as he cuts a thin line, using a straw to inhale it, a finger pressed to one side of his nose. He sits back against the bed, lets out a long shuddering breath, and smiles like sunshine.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” 

“Kneel on the bed for me.”

Anders sinks to his knees, naked in a puddle of silk and velvet, bending forward over his thighs until his head is touching the pillow. He is gold and ivory - the bowed head and the graceful curve of his back, the pale little peach of his arse on display. Sebastian moans with pleasure at the sight of him.

 “So beautiful, Anders… I’m going to make you feel good, I promise you, my love.” He presses a kiss against the base of Anders’ spine, and then spreads him open. Anders whimpers helplessly as Sebastian strokes him, fingers sliding inside easily where the muscles are still relaxed and pliant from their earlier lovemaking.

“Do you trust me, love?”

 Anders gasps as Sebastian’s wicked fingers caress his sensitive spot.  “Yes,” the word comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Yes Sebastian, please…”

 He watches in fascination as Sebastian puts two fingers into his mouth and then draws them out again, slick and shiny with spit.  He dips his wet fingers into the little mound of powder, coating them with it until they glisten, crystalline, starlight on snow.

Before Anders really understands what is happening, Sebastian’s fingers are inside him, thrusting deeply. The scratch of the powder, the cold burn of it against his sensitive tissue makes him cry out in shock.

“Shh, it’s ok beautiful.” Sebastian’s hand on the back of his head, pushing his face back down into the pillow. Anders whimpers helplessly. Saliva gathers at the corner of his slack lips, smearing a damp trail into the silk.

He’s just aware of the flick of Sebastian’s tongue in his arse, licking and fluttering inside him, as the drug hits. His heart jumps and thrashes against the inside of his ribs, and his veins fizz like champagne. Dizzy blackness rushes in to fill his head, and he hears himself laughing out loud, far away on the other side of the dark.

 When he falls back into his body, it’s to the sensation of Sebastian’s cock filling him, pounding into him, fucking him hard through the tingling numbness in his arse, and he laughs again. Stars burst behind his eyes.

 

 

The next time Sebastian asks him what he dreams about, the words spill out of him, uncontrolled. “I dream about being your whore,” he says “ I dream of you using me however you want, tying my hands behind my back, leaving the marks of your teeth in my skin, fucking me till I cry.”

“I love you, Anders,” Sebastian tells him. "I'll always love you", and Anders knows he is telling the truth.

 

Time stretches, it ceases to have any meaning as the days and nights blur seamlessly into one. There is only the room and the bed, and the lights of Amaranthine through the open window; distant sirens and the sound of voices drifting up from another world. There's only Sebastian, kissing him, fucking him, holding him tight as he falls asleep.

And then somehow, inconceivably, a week has passed, and there are bruises on his thighs and rope burns on his wrists, and when he switches on his mobile phone there are a half a dozen messages, none of them from anyone he cares about.

The last voicemail is from his boss, telling him he’s fired. Sebastian wraps his arms around him and presses his lips to Anders’ hair. “You don’t need it,” he says. “You don’t need any of them now; you’ve got me.” And Anders laughs, because it’s so obvious, so easy.

He belongs to Sebastian. That’s all he needs.

 

***********

 

 Anders head ached. The skin on his forehead was tender; the sutures gripped like little claws.

 He’d fallen asleep wearing Garrett’s sweatshirt. The antiseptic smell of the hospital waiting room still clung to the fabric, but underneath it there was a subtle trace of something that was uniquely Garrett Hawke. Anders found it oddly comforting. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, breathing it in; remembering that brief moment when he’d rested his head against Garrett’s chest, and felt his arms around him.

He’d let his guard down.

Anders knew he’d have to be more careful in future. He’d keep away from Garrett, wouldn’t speak to him unless he had to. Hawke probably despised him now anyway, which should have made it easier.

It wasn’t fair. Garrett was already far too involved for his own safety. He had no idea how ruthless Sebastian Vael could be.

 

He felt the mattress shift as Sebastian stirred awake beside him; smelled the sour whiskey scent of his skin.

“…Anders?”  

Anders closed his eyes and lay as still as he could, barely breathing.  A muffled sob sounded from behind him, and he realised, appalled, that Sebastian was crying.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please, don’t Seb, I can’t bear it.”

“I’m sorry, love. I never wanted it to be like this. I ruined everything.”

Sebastian’s voice was thick with tears, and Anders knew he wasn’t talking about the night before; the broken glass and the bloodied sheets.

 Anders rolled onto his side. He felt as if he was made of dust and ashes, old bones; no tears left for either of them.

 “I’m still here,” he said. “I’m still yours, aren’t I?”

He pulled Sebastian close; held him and stroked his hair as he wept.

He'd never felt so alone in his life.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Garrett ran.

Sweat dripped from his hair, made his eyes sting; the breath burnt in his throat. He ran in a zigzag pattern, past the pool and through the little copse of trees, around the carefully tended lawns at the front of the house, the slam of his feet against the wet gravel sending shockwaves echoing up through his body, the blood pounding in his head.

Now it was over, his memories of the previous night had taken on an almost nightmarish quality. When he closed his eyes he still saw Anders, eyes scorched black in a face the colour of old paper; the scarlet blossom of blood against a white towel. 

That heartbreaking little smile.

He desperately wanted to be able to offer him some hope, but he didn’t know how.

Hawke was a practical man; when something was wrong, he found a way to fix it. But he didn’t know how to fix this, and he didn’t have a lot of time to come up with anything. Varric had been busy, and the complex chain of accounts that would make the stolen money impossible to trace, was almost in place.  Soon, Garrett would have to be ready to run, as fast and as far away as possible.

The thought of leaving Anders here with Sebastian was unbearable.

He didn’t know what to do.  If he tried to persuade Anders to come away with him, it would mean telling him what was going on, and that was a risk he couldn’t take.  Anders was frightened, unpredictable, and Garrett wasn’t sure how deep his loyalty to Sebastian went. There was no way he could trust him enough to tell him the truth.

 The smell of rain, of damp dark earth, ivy and old moss still hung in the air. At the front of the house Garrett stopped and looked up toward the window of the room Anders shared with Sebastian. Between the gauzy curtains he could just make out a figure, shadowy and indistinct; a hand reaching out towards the window, fingers spayed against the glass. He couldn’t tell which one of them it was.

He turned and started running again. He ran until his chest hurt.

 

****

 

Back in his office, Garrett’s lack of sleep started catching up with him; his head felt full of cotton wool. He stirred sugar into a mug of instant coffee, and typed Sebastian’s name into Google images for the twentieth time while he waited for it to cool.

 The familiar pictures stared back at him; Sebastian Vael wearing a business suit, a dinner jacket, combat fatigues; smiling and shaking hands with an array of celebrities, politicians, and children with terminal illnesses.

The man certainly had a knack for publicity, Garrett thought. There was no sign of Anders in any of the pictures - Vael was so far back in the closet, if he took one more step he’d come out in fucking Narnia.

 Garrett clicked on a photograph of Sebastian in a black coat, sombre and grey faced at his cousin Goran’s graveside, a comforting arm around the shoulder of the dead man’s widow.   
Before his cousin’s death, Sebastian had been just another trust fund kid with expensive habits and a reputation as a bit of a playboy. Goran Vael’s suicide had made him one of the most powerful figures in the Marches overnight.  
If you looked closely, you could make out the faintly shimmering trail of a single teardrop on his cheek.

Garrett didn’t have much contact with his employer on a day to day basis – Sebastian’s personal assistant briefed him each morning, giving him details of his itinerary for the day and any other information Garrett might need, so when someone rapped sharply on the door before letting themselves in, he didn’t expect it to be Sebastian. He closed the laptop as casually as he could manage. His anger was cold now, hard and pure as diamonds, a splinter of ice that pierced his heart.

“Garrett? I was wondering if I could have a word.”

Garrett nodded. “Is everything all right?”

Sebastian perched informally on the edge of the desk. He was impeccably dressed, as usual –  silk tie knotted precisely over a crisp white shirt, the glint of silver cufflinks at his wrist, not a single glossy chestnut hair out of place. A faint bluish tinge to the skin beneath his eyes was the only indication that the previous night had been anything but restful.

“How is Anders?”

“He’s resting,” Sebastian said. “I wanted to thank you, for looking after him last night.  I realise it’s not part of your job, and I wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.” Sebastian started fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, smoothing them between his fingers. 

  “I’m sorry, Garrett, I should probably have been more open with you from the start, but you’ve been spending a lot of time with Anders, so I assume you know something about his problems.”

Garrett shook his head. “He doesn’t talk to me about anything personal.”

Vael cleared his throat. “Anders is an extremely troubled young man. He had a difficult childhood, and the trauma has affected him, emotionally. He gets paranoid, delusional… There are times when I have to physically prevent him from hurting himself.”

 _He didn’t throw a fucking glass at himself,_ Garrett thought.

Almost as if he’d read Garrett’s mind, Sebastian went on. “Last night was…regrettable. I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have, but I was stressed, and Anders’ mood swings can be difficult to cope with at the best of times.” He sighed.” I’m not making excuses; it was unforgivable.”

Garrett didn’t want to believe Sebastian, but his Instincts told him the man wasn’t lying, at least not completely – why would he, when it was far more plausible and effective to simply twist the truth to his own ends?

Sebastian seemed sincere enough, but he always did, and if Anders was ill, Garrett couldn’t help wondering if his difficult childhood was really the cause. He thought of the cuts and bruises, the way Anders seemed to stiffen as if in fear at Sebastian’s slightest touch.

If it was true, it just made his heart just ache for Anders all the more.

Sebastian stood up. He clasped Garrett’s hand between his, his grip somehow both velvet and steel at the same time, his smile the one he wore in the photographs.

“I’ll be away on business again tomorrow night,” he said. “I feel much happier about leaving now, knowing you’re here with him.  Thank you.”

“No problem.” Garrett met Sebastian’s lapis blue gaze firmly and unflinchingly. He had a sudden image of his own fist, slamming into that smug, arrogant, unfeeling face, over and over until he was picking splinters of bone from his hand.

He looked Sebastian straight in the eyes, and smiled.

If anyone in the world deserved to lose everything, it was Sebastian Vael.

 

***

There was no sign of Anders all that day, or most of the next. Garrett resisted the urge to seek him out until Sebastian and his entourage had left the house the following evening.

He found him sitting on the patio outside the conservatory, smoking a cigarette, framed against a lilac sky. The air was heavy with shadows, thick with the scent of honeysuckle. It should have been beautiful, Garrett thought, but it wasn’t.  
Anders looked up at his approach. The gauze dressing was gone now, the sutures a brutal black scrawl across his forehead.

 Garrett ached to hold him.

He sat down, pretending not to notice the way Anders shifted uncomfortably beside him, turning slightly away. The headphones were back, he noticed, hanging limply from the young man’s ears.

 ”Are you ok?”  

Anders shrugged. He drew his long legs in towards his chest and wrapped his arms around them, hugging his knees. “Listen,” he said.

Garrett sat still. He could hear the faint whisper of leaves, the rustle of the breeze through the grass, nothing more.

“What am I supposed to be listening to?” he asked.

“There’s a bird. I always hear it when it starts to get dark, and it sounds so sad. I thought you might know what it is.”

Garrett shook his head.  “I’m not very good with things like that,” he said. He would have known it once, he thought, back in Lothering. He’d forgotten so much since he came to Kirkwall; the harsh new things he’d had to learn had left no place for birdsongs or the names of butterflies, the scent of wild heather on an evening breeze.  He felt a sudden sharp sense of loss; a longing to go back, though there was nothing there to go back to.

“I thought maybe we could eat dinner together,” he suggested. Anders looked away with a little shake of his head, a stray lock of golden hair escaping from his ponytail and falling across his eyes.

“I’m not hungry,” he said.

“We could watch a film…”

Anders didn’t reply. He seemed to have withdrawn back into himself; it was as if the last few weeks had never happened.

Garrett couldn’t bear it.

“You can’t go on like this,” he said

“No. I can't.” Anders stood up to go, and Garrett reached out to clutch at his wrist without thinking, desperation making his grip rougher than he’d intended.  Anders froze; panic flickering like wildfire in his eyes, and Garrett was suddenly painfully aware of the fragile bones beneath his grasp, the cruel silver scar. One of Anders bracelets snapped beneath his fingers, tiny black beads raining down onto the paving stones.

He let go abruptly.  “I’m sorry.”

Anders raised his hand uncertainly, and Garrett’s breath caught in his throat, imagining, just for a moment, that he might reach out and touch him.

“I can’t do this Garrett,” he said softly. “Leave me alone. Please.”

He turned and disappeared into the conservatory, and Garrett felt lost, watching him go. He wanted to run after him, wanted to grab him and pull him into his arms.

He didn’t know what he wanted.

Anders frightened him; his fragility and his stubborn, futile, strength. He was afraid of the things he glimpsed, sometimes, in his eyes, and he was afraid for him. Dread was like a stone fist in his chest; it was icy, unforgiving fingers, wrapped around his heart.

 Hawke clasped his arms across his chest, as a sudden chill stippled his skin with goosepimples. Shadows were gathering among the trees at the edges of the garden, smudging the leaves with charcoal. The nightingale’s song pierced the lilac dusk, clear and sweet and achingly familiar, and Garrett realised he still remembered, after all.

 

****

“Varric’s pissed off with me.”

 Garrett wound his arm around Fenris’ shoulder, leaning against the smaller man’s side as they made their way through the streets of Kirkwall. Fen felt solid and muscular, surprisingly warm against his side, and Garrett rested his weight against him. The feeling of closeness was somehow more familiar, less awkward than it should have been, though that might just have been the effects of the alcohol.

“He’s not pissed off,” Fenris said. “He’s just a bit jittery. He’s afraid you might be getting cold feet.”

 “M’not getting cold feet; I’m just playing the long game,” Garrett explained. “You can’t rush these things, gotta do it properly… it’s a fucking art.”

Fenris chuckled. “You’re extremely drunk, Hawke.”

“Completely rat-arsed,” Garrett agreed amiably. “And you’re extremely sexy. Did I ever tell you how sexy you are Fen? Fenny… Fenfen.”  Garrett made himself laugh out loud. Fenris wasn’t the sort of man you gave pet names to; he was leather and steel, muscles taut as tripwires, a terrifying catlike grace. Undeterred, Garrett leaned in closer. He knew it was really bloody stupid, after everything that had happened between them, but he didn’t feel like being alone. And Fenris always smelt so good - a musky blend of leather and spice and fresh sweat that went straight to Garrett’s head.

”C’mon,” he slurred a little, deliberately exaggerating his drunkenness in the hope that he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.  “Just one little kiss, for old times’ sake.”

“It was one time, Hawke.”

 “It could have been more…” Garrett paused. “I wanted it to be more.”

 “I know,” Fenris said flatly, “I’m sorry.”

 It wasn’t fair, Garrett thought. His companion must have had at least as much to drink as he had, but you wouldn’t know it. He wasn’t visibly drunk, but then Fenris was rarely visibly anything, the cold hearted bastard. He was always calm, always perfectly self-contained, and Hawke found himself wondering what it would have been like, to be with someone like that, especially now he’d discovered this bewildering new part of him that longed for softness and sweetness and eyes like warm honey.

He realised he’d been bracing himself for the familiar pain, and it wasn't there. The old wounds still stung, but it was muted now, a distant echo of pain, the ache of a mended bone when a storm is coming. And if he was honest with himself, it had more to do with the hurt of rejection than anything else.

“S’okay,” he told Fenris. “It’s not me, it’s you,” he grinned. “It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. I mean, no offence Fen, but you’re not exactly boyfriend material.”

Fenris chuckled softly. “So, is this Anders of yours ‘boyfriend material?’” he asked.

“Anders? God no, he’s…” Garrett looked confused. “Am I that obvious?”

 “You mentioned him a couple of times. There was something in your voice…”

Hawke groaned. “I’m such a fucking cliché, Fen; mooning over the boss’s lover, like something from a tacky romance novel. Anyway,” he added," it doesn’t matter. He’s not interested.”

They reached the entrance to Fenris’ squat on the edge of Hightown. The front door and ground floor windows of the imposing old townhouse were boarded up with sheets of metal, daubed with spraypainted gang tags and graffiti. Fenris led Hawke around the side of the building, up the fire escape and through a window into a dingy room, the walls pockmarked, pitted with craters, as if someone habitually threw sharp objects at them.  Garrett wrinkled his nose at the subtle but pervasive odour of mildew that filled the air.

 “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Make yourself at home.” Fenris gestured towards a wooden table, its surface buried under piles of newspapers, foil takeaway containers and empty bottles. He took a bottle of red wine down from one of the shelves and offered it to Garrett, who shook his head. “Have you got any coffee?”

“I don’t think so.” Fenris frowned. He sat down across the table from Garrett, clearing a space between them with a sweep of his gloved hand. Garrett had only ever seen him take his fingerless leather gloves off once, and his skin tingled slightly at the memory of it.

“How do you know?” Fenris asked him.

“What?”

“That Anders isn’t interested in you?”

“He’s Sebastian’s.” A bitter twist of his mouth, like the taste of something sour and spoiled, poison sucked from a wound. Hawke felt suddenly cold, and weary through to his bones.

“It’s ok if he doesn’t want me, you know? I just want him to be happy. He deserves better.”

“Than Vael?” Fen’s eyes narrowed.

Garrett nodded. “He’s scum. The bastard treats Anders like dirt; he doesn’t let him go anywhere on his own, and he _hits_ him….”  He broke off, feeling as if he’d said too much, been disloyal, somehow, to Anders.

“He probably doesn’t know what he wants,” Fenris said softly

“I don’t see why not; it’s not that bloody complicated.”

“It can be.” Fenris hesitated. “When someone is in an abusive relationship, they don’t always see things the way they really are. It messes you up, Hawke. If you’re told something is your own fault often enough, on some level you start to believe it.” Fenris inclined his head, hair the colour of moonlight falling like a curtain across his face, obscuring his eyes. His voice was low, and there was a dark edge to it that Hawke had never heard before. “If anyone had asked, I could have given them a hundred reasons why I deserved everything I got; why I was lucky anyone wanted me at all.”

Garrett struggled to process what he was hearing - not the words, the words were simple enough, but somehow they still didn’t make any sense. Bile rose in his throat.

 “Fuck… Fen, I didn’t know.”

Fenris shrugged. “Maybe I should have had a t shirt printed up.”

“What?”

“I didn’t want you to know, Hawke.” Fenris reached across the table for the wine and took a deep swig from the bottle. “I thought I could put it behind me,” he added, with an odd, hollow sound that Garrett supposed was meant to be a laugh.

“Who was it?”

“It was… someone I worked for, in Tevinter. I was his bodyguard.”

“Did he hit you?”

 Fenris nodded. “Among other things.”

Hawke wondered if he should be asking questions, but he was still struggling to take in what Fenris was saying.

“But I don’t understand,” he said. “You’re…”

“What? “

“You’re _strong,_ Fen. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, you’re fucking fearless."

Fenris nodded. “And yet it happened.”

“But how? Why did you let it?”

 “I don’t know. It didn’t feel like I was making a choice, at the time. It’s difficult to explain.” Fenris rubbed a hand across his forehead. His fingers were bitten and calloused, the dark skin crisscrossed with tiny white scars. They were the fingers of someone who liked to play with knives.

“The scars on your chest….”

“Yes.”

Hawke wished he hadn’t had so much to drink. He didn’t feel particularly drunk now – in some ways he felt far too sober - but the world still seemed to shift around him, treacherous, and beyond comprehension.

“But you’re ok now, aren’t you?”

 Even as he said it he knew it wasn’t true, but Fenris just shrugged. “I get by,” he said, drily. “You were right about one thing though - it wasn’t you, it was me. I’m better off alone.” He changed the subject. “Tell me about Anders.”

“I don’t know. He seems … resigned, or hopeless. I’m not even sure he wants to leave. But it’s tearing me to pieces Fen, just being around him.”

Garrett looked up, miserably, into eyes like cracked green glass. “What am I going to do?” he asked.

“If you’ve got any sense, you’ll get some sleep - you can have the sofa. And drink lots of water, unless you want to wake up feeling like something’s trying to dig its way out of that idiot head of yours.”

Fenris got up to leave. He rested a gloved hand on Garrett’s shoulder as he passed, and gave it a brief, awkward little squeeze. “If there’s anything I can do, Hawke…”

“Thanks.” Garrett struggled to get the word out past the unexpected lump in his throat. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid, fresh off the boat from Ferelden; wouldn’t now, no doubt, if it wasn’t for the influence of  Corff’s poisonous whiskey, but as soon as his friend had left the room, his eyes filled  with tears. He rubbed at them angrily with the back of his hand, not sure if he was crying for Anders, Fenris, or himself.

 

 ***

The next night, Garrett let himself into Sebastian’s study.

 He’d found it impossible to relax all evening, thinking about Anders upstairs in his bedroom, miserable and alone. The feeling of helplessness that had settled over him since the night in the hospital was driving him mad. He needed to be doing something.  
He switched off the CCTV cameras for the corridor, took off his shoes, and stuffed a torch into his pocket, though the moonlight that spilled through the gap between the heavy drapes was almost as bright as day.

In the study, he closed the door carefully behind him, before he lifted the painting from its hooks and leaned it against Sebastian’s desk. The eyes of the saints seemed to follow his movements as he examined the safe set into the wall.

Garrett was good with safes. He could crack most models without using X-rays, autodialers or even a stethoscope; all he needed was a steady hand and the evidence of his own finely honed senses.  It was a skill he’d taught himself almost as a hobby, enjoying not just the challenge of breaking into something that was supposed to be secure, but the stillness and concentration it took, the way it forced him to slow his thoughts and focus his attention on one thing. It was almost like meditation.

He breathed deeply, reaching for the deep state of concentration he needed. He no longer told himself he was gathering information for Varric. He was after Sebastian. He needed something to bargain or threaten with, something that could be used as insurance for Anders, if the worst came to the worst.

He started to manipulate the lock, moving the dial slowly and smoothly, attentive for the minute changes in resonance, the subtle shifts beneath his fingertips that let him know he’d found the right combination.  


He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t hear the soft footsteps along the corridor, or the opening of the study door. He wasn’t aware of anything, until the light from the hallway flooded the room, and a cold quiet voice cut through the silence.

 “What are you doing?” Anders asked.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dub con.

 

 

“Are you trying to steal from us?”

Anders flicked the switch by the door, flooding the room with light and making Garrett blink.

“It’s not what you think,” he said.

“What is it then?”

Anders was barefoot, bleary eyed, his hair loose and tangled around his face. He was wearing one of Sebastian’s robes, a silky thing the colour of antique gold that hung open at the neck over creamy skin dotted with freckles, collarbones curved like blades.

“Please Anders, trust me.”

“Why should I?”  Anders almost laughed. Trust was a word worn thin around the edges; he’d heard it misused so often it had grown meaningless.

He had no reason to trust Garrett Hawke, and yet there was a part of him that longed to.  He felt an urge to push, to see what Garrett did.

 “It’s 2304,” he said. “The combination.”

“Anders…”

“Go on, open it.”

Garrett turned the dial, dismayed by the tremor in his fingers. The steel door swung open, to reveal several thick bundles of banknotes - maybe fifty thousand sovereigns worth. It was more money than Garrett had ever seen at one time, but it was nothing compared to what he’d have if everything went to plan.

“I wasn’t looking for money,” he said.

“Then what were you after?”

“Information… insurance. I thought if I had something on him, something he doesn’t want people to know, then I could use it against him. He’d have to let you go…” It sounded naïve when he said it out loud, crude and simplistic, but it was the closest thing he had to a plan.

“There’s nothing like that.” Anders looked sick, his face suddenly the colour of old bones, and Garrett thought he might be about to faint. He moved quickly to take his arm, guiding him towards a chair.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Garrett told him. “I’m sorry.”  There was a decanter of brandy on Sebastian’s desk, and Garrett poured a shot into a glass. He passed it to Anders and then perched on the edge of the desk.

“Are you ok?”

Anders nodded. He sipped at his drink, the colour already returning to his cheeks.

 “You know how to break into a safe,” he said.

 Garrett shrugged.  “Are you going to tell Sebastian?”

“I don’t know.” Anders’ gaze flickered up over Garrett’s face, pausing just for a fraction of a second as their eyes met. He was suddenly aware of a warmth, unfurling deep inside him, that was more than just the brandy. He stared down into his drink.

“Why do you want to help me?” he asked.

“I don’t like the way he treats you.”  It wasn’t enough. “I care about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I can’t seem to help myself.” The corners of Garrett’s lips curved upwards in a rueful smile, and Anders found himself smiling too; he couldn’t help it.

He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t do this again, but being with Garrett felt deceptively comfortable; it was all too easy to forget that he was doing something dangerous.

“Anders… ’I’m probably not going to be staying much longer.” Hawke reached impulsively for Anders’ hand. He felt the muscles twitch beneath the skin at his touch, and expected him to pull away.

“I don’t want to leave you here,” he said. “Come with me.”

  You know I can’t.”

 “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Anders shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.  He knew it would be almost impossible to think of anything else.

 

  


***

 

Back in his bed, Anders lay awake, remembering the last time he ran. He’d made it as far as Cumberland, that time; would have gone further but the money he’d taken from Sebastian had run out.  He’d managed to find a Job in a café on the harbour, pouring coffee and frying breakfasts for the dockers and fishermen, and the woman who ran the place had been kind and let him sleep on her sofa while he got himself sorted.

 He was there for three weeks, and all the time he was waiting, unable to eat or sleep for the sick feeling of dread in his gut; knowing that it couldn’t last.

 It was almost a relief, when he got back from work one night to find the men Sebastian had hired to bring him back waiting outside for him. Anders had never seen a real gun before, and hadn’t been able to stifle the hysterical laughter that escaped his lips when one of them pulled back his jacket to show off the menacing outline of the weapon tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

The whole thing was surreal. Even without the threat of the gun, he’d have got into the car without argument; there was a crushing sense of inevitability about it.

Wedged in tightly between the two bulky men in the back seat, it crossed Anders’ mind that Sebastian might have finally had enough. For all he knew, they could have been ordered to drive him out to somewhere isolated and shoot him.

  Sebastian would never let him go; he couldn’t.

He didn’t want to imagine what Sebastian would do to Garrett if they left together. He couldn’t put him in danger like that; he should have kept out of Garrett’s way, like he’d always intended to, but he was lonely and pathetic. He was weak.

He had to be strong now, for Garrett’s sake.

Anders curled on his side, drawing his legs up and hugging them to his chest. He knew he shouldn’t, but just for once he let himself imagine Garrett holding him; the sturdy weight of the man’s body against his back, strong arms clasped around him, breath soft on the back of his neck.

He closed his eyes, letting the imagined warmth of Garrett’s embrace wrap around him like a blanket, hugging it to him as he drifted to sleep.

 

***

It was still dark, the stars just beginning to fade, when Garrett made his way back to the study and switched on the computer.

He knew it was a long shot, but Garrett suspected that most people tended to use the same memorable numbers for more than one purpose. He typed the combination for the safe into the login box that appeared on the screen, adding it on to the end of various words and names picked almost at random. After the third attempt, a password reminder popped up.  Amaranthine. Hawke remembered Anders saying he’d worked in a bar there, before he met Sebastian. Maybe it was as simple as that, a time and a place. 2304 could just be a date, the anniversary of something important to Sebastian.

He typed in 23cloudreach, and the Starkhaven logo lit up the screen.

Sebastian’s desktop was as neat and well organised as everything else around him, and it didn’t take Garrett long to find what he was looking for. He quickly copied Sebastian’s emails and the contents of his documents folder to a flash drive, without even looking at them. Sebastian was giving a dinner party that evening, and Garrett knew he’d be kept busy all day; he probably wouldn’t have a chance to get a proper look at the files until late that night.

He wasn’t even sure why he was bothering – judging by Anders’ reaction to the idea, it was as stupid and pointless as he’d suspected. But he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. If there was even the slightest chance that he could get Anders to leave with him, he had to find it.

The files finished copying. Garrett switched off the computer, shoving the flash drive down into his pocket where he gripped it tightly, as if it was a talisman to ward away the dark.

 

****

 

After dinner that evening, Sebastian’s guests spilled out onto the patio. The gardens were lit with flickering candlelight; lanterns of jewelled glass strung like extravagant blossom from the branches of the trees. White flowers glimmered like tiny stars.

Garrett stood discreetly at the edge of the gathering, dressed in a plain black suit that marked him out as one of Sebastian’s staff.

Most of the guests were from Sebastian’s inner circle; people he knew and trusted. Garrett watched as Anders moved amongst them, smiling and seemingly at ease. He was chatting to Cullen, the CEO of Circle security, the largest private security company in the Marches. Hawke knew Sebastian had been wooing Cullen for months now, trying to negotiate a takeover for Starkhaven, but so far Cullen had proved unreceptive to his increasingly generous offers.

Garrett thought Anders looked beautiful; there was no other word for it. He was wearing a shirt of dark blue green, the fabric so fine it was almost translucent. The hippy bracelets had been replaced by an expensive watch and silver chains, and his hair was loose, brushed forward over one eye, covering the stitches at his temple. Garrett watched as he grabbed another glass of wine from a passing waiter. He was drinking quickly, but appeared to be relaxed and happy as he chatted to Sebastian’s guests, and Hawke was reminded again of the brief glimpse he’d had that night in Kirkwall, of the real Anders; open and charming, utterly captivating.

Almost as if he could feel the other man’s eyes on him, Anders chose that moment to glance in Garrett’s direction. He smiled shyly, hesitating for just a moment before walking over.

“Nice party,” Garrett observed.

 Anders shrugged. “It’s business,” he said. “It’s always business, with Sebastian.” The wine had brought a delicate pink bloom to his cheeks, and his eyes seemed to sparkle in the soft glow of the lanterns. Garrett couldn’t stop looking at him, imagining the tickle of silky blond hair against his face, and the smell of it; faint traces of cigarette smoke mingling with damp wood and fresh green leaves, like the gardens after an early fall of rain. He ached to hold him, but was almost afraid to think about it; terrified that Anders would recoil from his touch, the way he did with Sebastian.

“Garrett…” Anders took an uncertain step towards him.

Sebastian seemed to appear out of nowhere, He rested a proprietary hand on Anders’ shoulder, the gold on his fingers gleaming in the candlelight.

“Have you been looking after Cullen for me?” The question was directed at Anders, but Sebastian’s gaze was fixed on Garrett as he spoke, his bright blue eyes razor-sharp.

“He’s unbelievably dull,” Anders sighed. “If I have to listen to any more of his views on recent prison legislation I’ll probably go into a coma.”

“Just be nice to him.”

“I’m always nice.” One side of Anders’ mouth twitched up in a wry little smile. He downed the remains of his drink in a single swallow, and turned back towards the gathering on the patio.

Sebastian was still studying Hawke intently, a stony look in his eyes. Garrett wondered if Anders had said something to him about the previous night. Surely Sebastian would have had him fired immediately if he knew?

 He kept his expression carefully impassive “Is everything alright?”

Sebastian didn’t reply. He turned abruptly and went back to his guests

***

 

 

An hour later, almost all the guests had left. Garrett saw them safely off the premises, escorting them to their cars and locking the gates securely behind them, keeping a close eye on the press photographers that seemed to be an almost permanent fixture at the end of the drive.

Cullen was the only guest remaining. He and Sebastian had retired to one of the drawing rooms with a bottle of expensive Antivan brandy.   
  Anders ducked outside for a quick cigarette.  
It wasn’t hard, the smiling and pretending – it was second nature to him now, but he found it suffocating; he wanted to be outside, alone and unseen beneath the midnight sky.    
 A half glimpsed movement from among the trees made his heartbeat quicken, and he felt a stab of disappointment when he realised it was only one of the peacocks trailing through the long grass at the edge of the lawn. Creepy bloody things; that sound they made, like someone crying out in pain.  

Anders shuddered, and took a deep drag on his cigarette.  

He knew it was stupid of him, but he’d been hoping he might run into Garrett. He’d wanted to talk to him earlier, to reassure him that he wasn’t going to say anything to Sebastian about the safe, but then Sebastian had stuck his nose in and he hadn’t been able to say anything at all. And Garrett had been so handsome, even in that awful black shirt that made him look like one of the waiters. His hair had looked like spiky black feathers. Anders fingers had itched to touch it.

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like that. It was pointless. It only made things worse.

Anders dropped the stub of his cigarette; ground it beneath his heel in a shower of sparks. He headed back to join the others in the drawing room.

“There you are Anders.” Sebastian was all smiles, the way he always was when they were with other people. He reached for Anders’ hand, and pulled him down to sit on his lap. “I’ve been giving Cullen a quick tour of the house.”

“It’s very beautiful,” Cullen remarked. “I’m quite envious.”

“I’m a very lucky man, Cullen; a beautiful house and a beautiful companion to share it with me.”

 Sebastian’s hand slipped inside Anders’ shirt, thumb brushing roughly against his nipple. Anders’ face burned. He squirmed uncomfortably as Sebastian pinched the sensitive bud of flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

 “Anders would do anything for me. Wouldn’t you Anders?”

 Anders froze. Something ragged and black fluttered at the edges of his consciousness.

 Sebastian smiled at Cullen. It was a fox’s smile, sharp edged and venal. “Do you want him?” he asked

“I beg your pardon?” Cullen’s hand went to his collar. He tugged at his tie, a blush creeping up over his face.

“Do you want to fuck him?” Sebastian’s voice was low and seductive. Anders felt the faint caress of his breath against his neck as he spoke, and shivered despite its warmth.

 “You can have him, if you want,” Sebastian said. “I’ll let you fuck him.”

Anders’ head filled with the beating of black wings. He wanted to scream.

Cullen cleared his throat, visibly discomforted. “I don’t know about you Vael, but this isn’t how I do business,” he said.There was a brief, precarious moment of silence, like a knife’s edge. Sebastian’s laughter, when it finally came, was light hearted and perfectly relaxed, but Anders could feel the steel wire tautness in his muscles, the tension in his fingers where his hand gripped Anders’ thigh.

 “Really Cullen, you're so wonderfully easy to tease. I didn’t expect you to take me seriously.”

 Sebastian laughed. He moved Anders smoothly aside and stood up, “It’s getting late,” he said, “We should probably call it a night.”

Cullen’s face was a picture of confusion as Sebastian shook his hand warmly in both of his, and gave him his smoothest, most charming smile.

 “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

 Left alone, Anders sat glued to the chair, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He knew Sebastian hadn’t been joking; he’d offered him to Cullen as casually as offering him another glass of brandy, without even considering the possibility that Anders might say no.

 But he never said no to Sebastian, did he?

 Anders wondered if he’d been intended simply to sweeten Cullen up, or if there was something more sinister behind Sebastian’s proposal.He realised he was trembling. He desperately needed a cigarette.

He went over to the Orlesian style glass doors that led out onto the patio. Stepping outside, he heard the muffled swirl of tyres on gravel, as Cullen’s chauffeur whisked him away to safety. Something moved at the edge of his vision.

Garrett, in his black shirt and his black suit, like a stray shadow, a piece of the night come adrift. Anders couldn’t help wondering how long he’d been there, and if he’d overheard the conversation.

 “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Garrett said. “Is everything all right?”

  _Not exactly,_ Anders thought. _My boyfriend just tried to pimp me out to one of his guests._ But he didn’t want to say that to Garrett. 

 “You surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t know you were there.”Anders pulled nervously at his hair, the chains at his wrist flashing silver.

Sebastian appeared behind him in the doorway, his shadow spilling out over the stones.  “Are you all right Anders?” 

 Anders nodded tightly. “I just needed some air.”

 “A little bit too much to drink, I expect. I know you find social engagements quite trying.”  Sebastian wrapped a hand around Anders arm, and Garrett instinctively took a step towards them.

 “Anders?”

 "I’m ok Garrett.” A warning flashed in Anders’ eyes; he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. 

“Your concern is touching, Garrett, but Anders is perfectly well. Can you make sure everything’s secure for the night please?”

Sebastian tightened his hold on Anders’ arm as they went inside, gripping him tightly enough to leave bruises, almost dragging him out of the sitting room and along the corridor.

“I’m sorry Sebastian…” Anders wasn’t sure what he was apologising for. It didn’t matter. Sebastian’s anger was horribly unpredictable; he’d say almost anything to try to defuse it.

When they reached the dining room Sebastian pushed Anders roughly inside, and turned the key in the lock behind them. Anders caught the flash of gold rings out of the corner of his eye, as Sebastian struck him across the face.

 “What the fuck did you think you were playing at?” 

 “Please Sebastian, don’t…”  Anders instinctively tried to back away, to put some distance between the two of them, but Sebastian still had hold of him.

 “Look at you, you’re a fucking mess. I bet Cullen hasn’t had his dick sucked since he was at boarding school, and even he’s not desperate enough to touch you.” Sebastian’s voice dripped contempt. “You’ve cost me the Circle deal, and you’ve made me look like a complete fucking idiot. Freezing up like a frightened little virgin… Anyone would think you were more than just a cheap little whore,” he said.

“I’m sorry Sebastian…” Anders shrank back against the table, the edge of it digging painfully into his thigh. “You said I’d never have to do it again. You promised…”

 Anders bit his lip, afraid he’d said too much. He waited, tensed, for the inevitable blow, but Sebastian loosened his grip on Anders’ shirt. His hand seemed to hover uncertainly between them, before coming to rest on Anders neck, moving round to cup the back of his head. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture horrified him. Sebastian was so close, their bodies pressed together. He was aware of the heat of him through his clothes, the pressure against his chest and his thighs where they touched.

He felt Sebastian’s breath on his face, and realised, appalled, that he was going to kiss him.

 Anders tried not to pull away, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t suppress a shudder, as Sebastian’s lips brushed his.

“I can fuck you till you can’t walk, but you won’t let me kiss you…” Sebastian’s voice was bitter and anguished, racked with self-hatred. His handsome face was twisted with pain.

No one else ever saw it; the raw bloody wound where Sebastian’s heart had been.  Anders was its only witness. He turned away, unable to stand it.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He knew it wasn't enough, and when he looked back Sebastian’s eyes were cold and hard again, they were sapphire laced with steel. Sebastian grabbed hold of him, wrenching one arm up painfully behind his back and twisting him round, bending him over the table. His other hand tugged at Anders’ trousers, pulling them roughly down over his hips.

 “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

 Anders never said no to Sebastian. He told himself it wasn’t worth it. Best to just give him whatever he wanted; get it over as quickly as possible.

 He suspected there was another reason too; one he tried not to think about. If he thought about it, it would be unbearable.

 “You want me to bend you over and fuck you, like the filthy little slut you are.” 

 “Yes Sebastian,” Anders whimpered.

 Even though he was waiting for it, Sebastian’s touch, when it came, was still shocking.  Spit-slicked fingers, spidery against his skin; a smear of something cold and wet. It wasn’t enough, and Anders cried out as Sebastian forced two fingers inside him, twisting them cruelly.

“Hush love…” He felt Sebastian’s weight against his back, the slide of fabric over his screaming, sensitised skin.

 Sebastian stroked his hair. His voice was soft, lips pressed close against Anders’ ear.

 “Does it hurt?”

Anders nodded, unable to trust his voice.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.” Anders clutched at the damask tablecloth, bunching the fabric in his fist. A bottle shuddered and fell, wine spilling in a scarlet puddle, dripping down onto the floor.  He waited for the pain, wanting and willing it to tear him apart, to shatter him into a thousand jagged splinters.

 It was only bearable when it hurt.

 Another sharp, jagged thrust; the rasp of knuckles as Sebastian crooked his fingers, making Anders cry out again. He felt Sebastian’s cock against his arse.

The blackness clawed at him. It sucked the air from his lungs.

 Sebastian grabbed a handful of Anders’ hair, twisting it around his fingers, jerking Anders’ head back sharply as he thrust into him. Anders’ legs shook, threatened to give way, as Sebastian pulled back and then thrust into him again, fucking him brutally. He pressed a hand to his mouth, bit down hard on his fingers to stop himself screaming.

For a few interminable seconds, nothing else existed. The pain was Anders’ only point of reference; he floated in it, forgot to breathe, until gradually through the haze, he became aware of the uneasy coiling of heat in his groin, as his body responded against his will to the sensation of Sebastian fucking him. His cock twitched, half hard, rubbing painfully against the unyielding surface of the table.

 He was sick, disgusting.

 Shame flooded through him in an oily, nauseating wave. It filled his belly and choked his lungs. He was made of it; it was his blood and his bones. An anguished sob escaped his lips as he pushed back against Sebastian’s cock.

 “Whore.” Sebastian’s voice was choked and desolate.

 Tears pricked the back of Anders’ eyes. Sebastian was right; he was vile, pathetic. He was worse than a whore.

 He was exactly what Sebastian had made of him.

 “Yes, Sebastian,” he whispered. "I'm your whore."

 

 ****

Hawke forced himself to breathe slowly. It had been a struggle to remain calm in front of Sebastian, when what he’d really wanted was to grab Anders and physically drag him away. He'd felt an almost overpowering need to punch Sebastian’s arrogant face.The warning flash in Anders eyes had been the only thing that held him back.

He didn’t want to think about what might be going on between Sebastian and Anders; couldn’t think about it without feeling like he was balancing dangerously on the edge of an abyss, crimson darkness gaping beneath him, waiting to swallow him whole.

 He needed to keep himself occupied. Hawke opened his laptop and plugged in the flash drive.

 Sebastian kept his mail well organised – no spam, or year old notifications clogging it up. Anything dated more than a week ago had either been deleted, or carefully filed away. He clicked instinctively on a folder titled _misc._ that appeared to contain only one item.

The message had been sent from princevael@starkhaven.com, and Garrett felt an odd thrill as he realised it was from Goran Vael, and dated just over three years previously, at around the time of the man's death.

__

_Sebastian_

_I am, as you know very well by now, a weak man. I am also a coward, and I cannot go on living with the threat of exposure hanging over me._

_My will has been rewritten so that on my death you will inherit the controlling shares in Starkhaven._

_You've got what you wanted now. Don’t expect it to make you happy._

Garrett leaned back in his chair. Goran Vael had clearly had secrets of his own, and it was obvious from the email that Sebastian had known about whatever it was that his cousin didn’t want exposed. But before he had the chance to think about it, a sudden movement on the screen caught his attention. Sebastian was leaving the dining room, straightening his shirt as he walked, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. A minute later, on a different monitor, Hawke watched him get into one of his cars and drive away.

 There was no sign of Anders.

 He hurried to the dining room and knocked tentatively, his face pressed to the door. “Anders?”

 “Please Garrett, go away.”

Anders voice, taut and muffled, sounding as if it came from a million miles away

“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re all right,” Garrett insisted.

When there was no reply, he eased the door open cautiously. The room was a mess; the ruins of the evening’s meal littered the table; pools of wine and glistening candlewax, fallen petals scattered like confetti. The smell of spilt wine was overpowering.

 Anders was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his hands clasped over his face. His clothes were disheveled, his hair knotted and tangled. 

“Don’t…” he said.

 Garrett knelt in front of him. “Did he hurt you?”

 Anders shook his head.

 He reached out, gently taking the other man’s hands in his and lifting them away from his face.  Anders squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His lashes glistened, spiky with tears “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said.

 Garrett brushed the hair back from his face, softly tucking a long strand behind his ear. “Shh, it doesn’t matter.”

 "Yes, it does." Anders opened his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his hand, deliberately avoiding meeting Garrett’s gaze.

“I need a shower,” he mumbled.

 Garrett straightened up. He reached for Anders’ hand to help him to his feet. As the dining room door closed behind them, Anders leaned his shoulders against it and took a deep shuddering breath, as if he was trying to gather the strength he needed to go on.

“Come here.” Garrett pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. He wondered where it came from, this tenderness, and if it had always been there, obscured by shadows; waiting for someone to shine their light on it.

 He pressed his face to Anders’ hair, breathing in sweat and the fragile remnants of Sebastian’s cologne, like cedar wood and church incense.

“He’ll be out all day tomorrow; we can get away from here, talk about what we’re going to do, ok?”

“Ok.” He felt Anders hand against his chest, long slender fingers closing hesitantly around the fabric of his shirt.  It was enough to make his heart burst.

He realised he didn’t give a damn about the money any more. Anders was the most important thing now; if Varric didn’t like it, he could go fuck himself.

 He would do whatever he had to, to keep Anders safe.

 

***

Once Anders had gone upstairs, Garrett wandered out to the kennels to check on Hunter. The huge Mastiff seemed unsettled and in need of attention, and he spent a few minutes soothing the animal, talking nonsense to him and scratching the soft velvety fur behind his ears.

Garrett was restless too.  

 The night air was clear and chilly, sweet with the scents of tobacco plant and night flowering jasmine. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs, but it still felt as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. He knew there was no point trying to sleep, that he’d only lie awake listening for Sebastian’s return.

 He made his way back to the house, grabbing a half full bottle of wine from the patio as he passed by, and settled back on the bed with his laptop.

 He read Goran Vael’s email again – his suicide note, he supposed it was -  and forwarded a copy to Varric just to be on the safe side. Then he opened the documents folder, scanning it quickly for anything that might be interesting. The first unnamed file he clicked on turned out to be an itinerary for a business trip to Tevinter, a list of names and places that meant nothing to Hawke, and he closed it after just a cursory glance.

As he opened the next folder, Garrett thought for a moment that he’d stumbled on Sebastian’s private porn collection.

 At first glance, the man in the photographs looked like Sebastian; the chestnut hair was the same, and the darkly bronzed skin, but a closer look revealed him to be slightly older looking, thicker round the waist and more heavily muscled, There was a definite family resemblance however, and Garrett quickly realised he was looking at Sebastian’s cousin, Goran Vael.

The other man was pale and slender; his cropped hair clung to his head, dark with sweat.

 A sickly feeling of dread settled over Garrett, as he recognised Anders.

The images had an almost abstract quality to them; blurred compositions of tangled limbs and straining, sweat sheened, flesh. They could have been anyone. In the few pictures where his face was visible, Anders eyes were glassy and unfocused; he seemed barely aware of what was happening.

Garrett stared at them numbly. He didn’t know how to feel. It struck him that he didn’t really know Anders at all. He’d concocted his pathetic little rescue fantasy, based on a fairytale image of Anders as the innocent victim, the helpless captive in his gilded cage. This was the reality - the ropes and leather straps, the soiled rubber sheets; Anders, apparently off his face, oblivious while his lover’s cousin fucked him.

  
A dull sense of shock crept over him, as the implications of what he was looking at slowly began to sink in. 

 He clicked on another photograph, unable to stop now, though he didn’t think he could bear to look.

 This one was different. Instead of focusing on Goran, the camera seemed to point straight at Anders. He didn’t look drugged this time; there was no mistaking the fear and pain that distorted his face. His eyes, above the filthy strip of cloth that had been used to gag him, were wild and tearful.

_Oh God, Anders…_

Garrett tasted bile in the back of his throat. He choked and stumbled to the bathroom, only just making it in time to throw up violently into the sink. His hands shook, as he splashed cold water onto his face.

 The words he’d read earlier echoed hollowly in his head.

  _You’ve got what you wanted now._

  _Don’t expect it to make you happy._

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

The iron gates clanged shut behind them. Anders hunched in the back seat, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, a woolly hat pulled down over his hair. Cameras flashed as a group of three or four photographers crowded around the car, and Garrett put his foot down hard, scattering them like loose stones.  
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.  
“I don’t know.” Anders stared out of the tinted window. “Anywhere. Away.” 

Hawke took the winding road towards the coast. As he drove, the landscape gradually altered, wooded hills giving way to rough heathland carpeted by gorse and bracken, bare trees twisted and misshapen by the wild coastal winds.  
Garrett’s face was grim in the overhead mirror, his jaw tight and aching from all the questions he couldn’t bring himself to voice. He turned the radio on, and then off again, and the silence was like knives.

It was afternoon by the time they reached the Wounded Coast, The air was clear and bright; sunlight flashing silver on the surface of the waves, the distant silhouettes of ships clearly visible against the horizon.

Anders squinted up at the sun. “I want to walk,” he said. “I want to keep walking and never stop.”

Dead trees, fallen as the cliffs eroded, lay bleached and skeletal along the shore. Garrett took off his shoes, rolled up the hem of his jeans. The sand between his toes was the remains of rocks worn down by a million years of storm tides, the crushed, fossilised bones of ancient sea monsters. He felt suddenly very small and powerless, at the mercy of forces he couldn’t control.  
He watched as Anders clambered over the rocks at the water’s edge, remembering the touch of his hand, and the sweet, uncertain way he’d smiled when Garrett had said he cared about him. The images from the photographs had haunted his sleep, and he’d woken with tears streaming down his face.  
He couldn’t help wondering exactly how far Anders had been involved in Goran Vael’s blackmail - if he’d been in on the whole thing from the start, or if he’d been coerced into going along with it. He couldn’t ask; the fact that he’d even seen the photographs felt like a betrayal in itself.

Anders turned to smile at him, and Hawke let the crash of the waves drown out the voices in his head. He quickened his pace, hurrying to catch the other man up.

As they walked side by side, their hands found each other, and held on tight. 

 

They walked for hours, until the afternoon sun hung low over the horizon, tinting the waves with burnished gold. The day’s warmth had begun to fade, and a chilly wind blew in from the sea, making Anders shiver and rub his bare arms. Garrett had bought some food from the kitchen; bread with sharp pale cheese and glossy black olives, apples, and a slab of bitter dark chocolate. He poured sweet black coffee from a thermos into a plastic mug, and passed it to Anders.

Anders stared out to sea. The hat was stuffed in his pocket now, and strands of hair escaped his ponytail, whipped across his face.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he said.

Garrett didn’t reply. He was thinking about the others; the Lowtown girls, hardfaced and older than their years, never expecting more than a few free drinks and a quick fuck in a rented room at the back of a pub. And then later, when he’d realised where his preferences lay, there were the boys from the Rose; sweet little Jethann with his arch smile and his cunning hands, his ancient, world-weary eyes. None of them had meant anything more to him to him than a brief diversion. He didn’t believe he had the capacity to love.

It had been Fenris that changed his mind. The job they’d been doing for Varric had gone tits up; they’d been set upon in the street by Carta thugs and had only just managed to get away with their lives. Bloodied and breathless, high on adrenaline, the air had seemed to crackle and spark between them and they’d reached for each other instinctively; a fierce, exhilarated fuck you to the death that still snapped at their heels. Garrett had been shocked, when the flames died down, by the tender feelings that remained. It was as if he’d woken that morning into a world of new and frighteningly tenuous possibilities.

He watched as Anders lit a cigarette, taking in his sharply chiselled profile and the soft curve of his lips, the freckles on the back of his hand; all the tiny, indefinable things he had come to treasure. He couldn’t imagine not loving him now.

The sun sank, bleeding into the sea. Garrett gathered armful’s of dead wood, and built a fire beneath the cliffs. He leaned in close to the tiny flame, blowing on it gently until it began to curl itself hungrily around the brittle twigs and branches.

“Red sky at night, sailors delight.” Anders settled back against the sandy wall of the cliff, snug against Garrett’s side, and Garrett wrapped an arm around his shoulder, taking pleasure in in their newly found closeness.  
“They say shepherds delight, back in Ferelden,” he said.

“Do you ever want to go home?”

Garrett shrugged. “What’s left of my family is here now.” Foreign beggars, Fereldan dogs; if they stayed there fifty years, Kirkwall would never be home.  
“What about you?” 

“It’s a long time since I had a home.” Anders jabbed at the fire with a stick, sending sparks dancing into the air.  
“We can have one together.” Garrett tightened his embrace around the other man’s shoulder. “I’m going to make it all right,” he promised.

Anders bowed his head. “You shouldn’t be nice to me,” he said quietly. “I don’t deserve it.”

“You don’t deserve the way Sebastian treats you.”

“Perhaps I do.” A note of bitterness crept into his voice. “Perhaps I like it.”

"You don't mean that."

"I don't know." Anders sighed. He rested his head against Hawke’s shoulder, felt the touch of Garrett’s lips against his hair.

“You can’t stay with him just to punish yourself.”

Anders’ hand felt small and cold in his. He stroked his thumb along the barbed wire edge of Anders’ scar, felt the shiver that went through him at his touch.

“Did he do that to you?” he asked.

Anders shook his head.  
The memories came rushing back; the blunt edge of the blade – he’d had to hack at his own flesh like a cheap cut of meat. Black and white tiles daubed with red, and the chill of them against his face; Sebastian in tears, breaking the door down, swearing he couldn’t live without him…

“I wanted to make it stop,” he said simply.

There had been so many betrayals, and each had stripped something from him, until he felt there was almost nothing left. Even Sebastian didn’t really see him anymore, but a distorted reflection of his own pain and guilt, a reminder of everything he’d lost. Slowly, Anders had learned that resignation was less painful than hope. It was easier not to believe in a future; to concentrate on getting through each day.  
And then Garrett Hawke had turned up, and Anders careful defences crumbled to dust. Somewhere, buried deep inside him, a fragile, terrifying, spark of hope had still burned; a flickering ghost light, leading him on through the dark.

The sunset blazed gold on the horizon; it shimmered on the surface of the waves. Anders leaned in closer to Hawke’s embrace. He could feel the warmth of the other man’s body through his clothes, the strength and the softness of him. The touch kindled a new reckless kind of courage in him.

“I want to go with you, Garrett.” Even saying the words out loud made his heart race. “But you need to understand. There’s nowhere he can’t find us. We’ll be hunted…”

“I don’t care.”

“But you’ve got your family to think of too. Don't think he’s above using them to get to you.” Anders tried to keep his voice steady. “I don’t want to do that to you. It would be better for you if you just left without me.”

Garrett turned towards him. His face was so close, Anders could see the firelight reflected in his dark brown eyes.  
“I’m not going to leave you.”  
Anders felt the scrape of stubble against his face as Garrett’s lips found his. The kiss was slow and achingly sweet, and he wanted it to go on forever - he felt a sense of loss that was almost a physical pain when the other man finally broke away.  
Garrett brushed Anders cheek with the pad of his thumb, wiping away tears he never knew he’d shed.

“I’m not going to leave you.”

*

In the car on the way back, Garrett tried to calm his racing thoughts and make some real plans. Anders’ words hadn’t deterred him – he’d be on the run anyway, once Sebastian’s accountants noticed the huge amounts of money disappearing from his bank account. Varric already had a whole new identity set up for him, but now Garrett would have to ask him to do the same for Anders, and he definitely wasn’t going to be happy about it. Garrett hoped he’d be able to persuade him, but even if he did, time was no longer on their side.

At the house, Garrett and Anders parted without words. They clasped hands briefly, in reassurance that whatever came next, they would face it together.  
Garrett watched as Anders disappeared up the curving staircase, and then turned towards his own quarters. A thin strip of yellow light showed beneath the door of the office. Garrett took a deep, steadying breath and opened the door.  
Sebastian leaned casually back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other, his waistcoat unfastened over a pristine white shirt.

“Garrett,” he greeted Hawke amiably. “I think it’s time we had a little talk, don’t you?”

Without waiting for a reply, Sebastian reached over and pressed the switch on one of the CCTV monitors. Garrett watched himself pull Anders into his arms in jerky slow motion. Hawke felt a sense of unreality – it was like a scene from a dream. Even on the tiny black and white screen, the look of tenderness on his face was unmistakeable.

“Anders was upset,” he said blankly. “I was comforting him.”

“Don’t play stupid Garrett, it doesn’t suit you.”

“What do you want me to say? You’ve obviously come to your own conclusions.”

“I’m disappointed, Garrett. I thought I could trust you.” On the monitor, Hawke pressed his lips to Anders’ tangled hair. Sebastian flicked the switch off again.  
“My driver is waiting to take you back to Kirkwall,” he said. “You’ve got ten minutes to get your things together and get out. You’re fired.”

 _Shit._ Garrett had a dizzying sense of the ground shifting beneath his feet. Of all the things he’d thought might go wrong, somehow he’d never anticipated this.

“I want to see Anders,” he said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Sebastian’s gaze was icy, unwavering. “You wouldn’t want to upset him, would you?”

Garrett was mute with rage. Sebastian couldn’t stop him seeing Anders if he tried, but anything Hawke said to him in front of Sebastian would only make things worse. Letting Vael see how angry he was would be counterproductive; he needed to play it cool. He’d find a way to contact Anders, to let him know that he hadn’t left through choice; that he was going to come back for him.  
He glared coldly at Sebastian, the contempt he felt for the man shining, stark and brutal, in his eyes, and then he turned away to his room to pack his things.

*  
Sebastian’s driver wasn't the talkative type. He grunted in response to Garrett’s admittedly half-hearted attempt at making conversation, and immediately switched the radio on to some late night dance music station. Garrett sank back in his seat, wondering how he was going to explain himself to Varric. A tight ache was developing between his eyes. He watched as sweat beaded on the driver’s shaven head. The man rubbed it nervously, glancing back at Garrett in the mirror. His hand went down to his pocket, patting it lightly, as if to reassure himself.

Garrett went cold. He steadied his breathing, trying not to panic. He was a complete fucking idiot. He hadn’t expected Sebastian to behave like a cheap gangster, but that’s what he was, when it came down to it – for all his money and power, he was no better than the common thugs that haunted the alleys of Darktown.

Garrett unbuckled his belt and slid it slowly out through the loops of his trousers, trying to keep his movements small and as invisible as possible from the front seat, careful not to make any sound.  
He felt the wheels bump as the car left the road, turning onto an unlit dirt track that disappeared into the trees. Fuck. Garrett’s mouth was dry, his fingers slick with sweat as he gripped the leather tightly between his hands. It was too dark for him to see where they were going, but he got the impression they were heading into the forest – he could almost feel the trees closing in around him, dense and suffocating. After a couple of hundred yards the car slowed and Garrett grabbed his chance, lunging forward and looping the belt over the drivers head, pulling it tight around his neck. The man’s hands went automatically to his throat, and Garrett twisted the belt with his right hand, reaching round swiftly with his left to grab the gun from the driver’s pocket.  
The driver had the presence of mind to hit the brakes, and the car slid to a stop, the bumper just inches from the trunk of a tree that had seemed to appear suddenly out of the shadows in front of them.  
Garrett let the leather belt fall from his hands. He pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of the man’s head, and his grip was steady now; he felt like the old Garrett again, cocky and self-assured, not afraid of anything. It was a good feeling. He almost laughed out loud.

“Put your hands where I can see them,” he said. 

The driver raised his hands, clasping them to the back of his head. “Look mate” he protested. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but there’s no need for this.”

Garrett didn’t reply. He got out of the car and opened the door for the other man, gesturing for him to get out. “Get down.” His voice was a low, threatening growl against the techno music still blaring incongruously from the radio. The driver sank to his knees on the forest floor.  
Keeping the gun trained on the kneeling man, Garrett opened the boot. Plastic bin bags, a length of rope, a spade. His stomach heaved. The taste of bile filled his mouth, and he spat it out onto the ground.

“Next time you see your boss, you can tell him from me that he’s a fucking amateur,” he said. “Were you supposed to contact him, when you’d done it?”  
The driver nodded, the sharp odour of sweat hanging over him like a cloud. He flinched as Garrett frisked him, running one hand over the man’s pockets.  
“Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” Hawke pulled a phone from the man’s pocket and handed it to him. “Do it.”  
He grinned, his expression wolf-like and dangerous.  
“You’d better not fucking mess me about, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll kill you without breaking a sweat.”

*

As he drove through the dark towards Kirkwall, Garrett dialed Fenris’ number. The call went straight to voicemail - Fen made a point of never answering his phone, and Garrett could only hope he checked his messages regularly.

He parked the car in the darkness of the alley at the back of the Hanged Man. He didn’t like the idea of leaving it unattended; an expensive car like that stuck out like a sore thumb in Lowtown, and the situation was already messy enough without having his stolen car re-stolen, along with the luggage he’d stashed in the boot. But there wasn’t much choice. He didn’t plan on hanging around long anyway.

In the bar, Corff was giving the tables a cursory wipe before closing up for the night. He was used to Hawke coming and going at odd times, and he greeted him with a nod of the head.  
Varric wasn’t in his rooms. Garrett helped himself to a whiskey from the bottle on the mantelpiece, and downed it in one swallow, noting the tremor in his hands with a strange sense of detachment.  
Varric’s desk was piled high with books and papers, in a filing system that made sense only to him. Garrett shoved them aside and plugged the flash drive into the printer, blinking stupidly at the instructions on the display. He was running on pure adrenaline now, his fear for Anders made him feel clumsy and slow witted; it drove everything else from his mind.  
Varric appeared in the doorway. His fox-coloured hair was scraped back in a scruffy half ponytail, and he appeared to be wearing a bath robe and not much else.  
“Corff said you came up here.” His brown eyes narrowed as he looked Garrett over. “Are you all right Hawke? You look like lightly steamed shit.”

“I fucked up Varric, ok?” Hawke ran an anxious hand through his hair, making it stick up at angles. “The jobs off,” he said.

Varric closed the door carefully behind him. “Did Vael find out what's going on?”

Garrett shook his head. ”No, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know anything.”

“Then what do you mean the job’s off?”

“I mean he tried to have me killed. There’s a car outside with one of his thugs tied up in the boot.”

“For fucksake Hawke, what have you done? You know how long I’ve been planning this, how much work has gone into it, and now you turn up in the middle of the night and casually tell me you’ve pissed it all away… “

Garrett struck at the printer in frustration, sending a shower of papers to the floor. “How do you work this fucking thing?”

“Just take it easy, ok…” Varric leaned over his shoulder and pressed a button. He picked up the first sheet of paper as it fell from the printer, examining it with an expression of obvious distaste. ”What the hell _is_ this, Hawke?”

“It’s Anders.” Garrett almost snatched the picture from his grasp. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to explain, but he needs me, Varric...” The words caught in his throat. For a second, he thought he was going to cry. The other man was staring at him uneasily; Garrett thought it was the first time he’d ever seen the old fox lost for words.  
The awkward silence was broken by soft footsteps on the staircase. When Fenris let himself into the room, Hawke had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

“Doesn’t anybody knock around here?” Varric sighed. “If I’d known I was having visitors, I’d have baked a goddamned cake.”

Fenris ignored him. “Hawke? What’s going on?”

“Hawke can’t keep it in his damned pants, that’s what’s going on,” Varric grumbled.

“I need your help, Fen.” Garrett picked up the gun and wedged it into his belt. “I’m going to get Anders.”  
Fenris nodded, a fierce light glittering in his eyes. “I’m coming with you.”  
He reached out a gloved hand to grip Garrett’s arm, in a gesture that Hawke found indescribably touching.

They were half way down the stairs when Varric’s voice sounded behind them. “Wait up champ, let me at least get some pants on.” He appeared a few seconds later, hurriedly tucking in his shirt and sighing melodramatically.

“This had better be good,” he said.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for just about everything.

Anders stood in front of the bedroom mirror, dragging a comb through the tangles the salt wind had left in in his hair. He usually tried to avoid his own reflection; it was the first time he’d really looked at himself in years, and he was caught off guard by the faint pink flush that tinted his cheeks, the light in his honey coloured eyes.

It shocked him, somehow; how normal he looked.

He didn’t hear Sebastian’s footsteps behind him, didn’t realise the other man was there until he heard him speak into his phone, too softly for Anders to make out the words. He tensed and froze.  
Sebastian snapped the phone shut and put it away in his pocket. He pressed his face against the back of Anders’ neck, breathing in deeply.

“Your hair smells of woodsmoke.”

Anders watched them in the glass; Sebastian’s hands on his shoulders, gold glinting at his fingers. Sebastian’s eyes like the sunlit sea.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” Sebastian murmured. “I love you Anders; you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know.” Anders took no pleasure in the other man’s pain. He knew the lies Sebastian told himself; the untruths he clutched like a bandage to his bleeding heart.

“I know I could make you happy again, if you’d let me.”

Anders lowered his eyes. It was almost easy now, to bite his tongue; to slip into dull submission. He let Sebastian lead him towards the bed. 

He would let Sebastian have what he wanted; he always did, in the end. He closed his eyes, a sense of unreality creeping over him as Sebastian’s hands slid under his clothes, over his skin.  
Soon, he reminded himself, he would be with Garrett. Everything would be ok.

The sound of his own breath in his ears was like the sound of the sea. 

He remembered Hawke kissing him, in the firelight, by the edge of the sea. It had panicked him, at first – not the kiss itself, but the feeling that it changed things forever. Garrett had kissed him, with the sunset shining in his eyes and the taste of salt on his skin, and nothing would ever be the same again.  
He ached to feel Garrett’s lips again. Sebastian could call him a whore all he liked, but it was years since he’d _wanted_ something like this; something that didn’t hurt.

“Anders…”

The raw longing in Sebastian’s voice dragged him back. He opened his eyes, found himself caught and pinned down by the burning black at the centre of Sebastian’s gaze.  
Without warning, Sebastian grabbed Anders by his hair, jerking his head back sharply. “He’s gone,” he said. His voice was soft; at odds with the harshness of his grip, and Anders stared at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Hawke. He took his things and left.” 

“I don’t understand.” Anders’ tongue tripped on the words. He was suddenly desperately aware of his voice, of the impossibility of trying to sound as if it was just a question, and he wasn’t really shattering inside. “W… where did he go?”

“I'm afraid he didn’t leave a forwarding address.” Sebastian made no attempt to hide the scorn in his voice. 

_No…_

It wasn’t right, he knew it wasn’t. Garrett had kissed him, and promised he’d never leave.

_I believed him…_

“Did you fuck him?”

“What?” Anders’ head was spinning. “No… I swear, Sebastian, we never…”

“It doesn’t change anything if you did.” The hand in his hair twisted cruelly, making him gasp in pain. “You’re mine, Anders; you always will be.”

“No.” Anders recoiled as Sebastian’s lips brushed his throat. He lashed out instinctively, his nails catching the other man’s cheek as he tried to push him away. Sebastian grabbed at his wrists, a row of tiny, perfect, ruby beads, forming along the scratch on his face. 

“Little cat…” Sebastian sat back, straddling Anders’ thighs, and loosened his tie, tugging it out from beneath his collar. Fear filled Anders’ head with white noise. He twisted frantically, trying to struggle out from beneath the other man as Sebastian held his wrists.

“I thought you knew better.” Shifting to one side, Sebastian flipped Anders roughly over onto his belly. He felt a knee in the small of his back, pinning him down, as his arms were twisted behind him and Sebastian began knotting the strip of red fabric tightly around his wrists. Anders felt the sweat beading on his forehead, trickling like acid into his eyes. He fought desperately to hold back the panic that consumed him.

“Please Sebastian, I don’t want this.”

“You’re mine, Anders.” Sebastian was breathing heavily. “My whore, remember?”

“No…”

Sebastian was fumbling with his clothes, ripping at them, dragging his pants down over his hips. He thrashed and kicked, felt Sebastian’s hand in his hair again, pulling his head back and then slamming it down onto the pillow. There was a crunching sensation as something in his nose _moved_ , and a nauseating wetness began to soak into the silk beneath his face. He tasted blood in the back of his mouth. 

He whimpered in terror as his legs were forced apart. 

“Hush, love.” Sebastian whispered. “Don’t fight me…” and then the pain tore into him, ripping him open. Anders screamed.

Sometimes, he almost welcomed the pain. It stopped him thinking, stopped him feeling anything else.

This was different.

This time he’d said no.

He never said no to Sebastian. He’d told himself it was just easier that way, and tried not to think about his motives too deeply, but now he was forced to face the truth.

Sebastian wasn’t the only one who lied to himself. Anders had clung like a drowning man to the illusion of consent.

The pain was so bad he thought he might throw up.  
He tried to crawl away, but Sebastian’s hand was on the back of his neck, pressing his face down into the bloody pillow, the weight of his body pinioning him to the bed. Struggling was useless; he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe through his swollen nose and the wet fabric that clung to his face. He lay dazed and sobbing, broken beneath the unrelenting brutality of Sebastian’s assault. He didn’t have the energy to fight; it hurt too much, and none of it mattered now. He’d messed everything up. Garrett had gone.

_(No, that’s not right…)_

The realisation was like a punch in the guts; it stunned him, sucked the breath from his lungs. Garrett hadn’t left him. Sebastian had done something to Garrett, he’d hurt him, or… _something worse._

It was all his fault; he should have been stronger. He should never have wanted; never have hoped. 

_Oh fuck Garrett, I’m so sorry love._

He felt darkness closing in on him; settling like a fog around him, numbing him and blurring his thoughts, and he prayed for it to swallow him whole. 

*  
When Sebastian had finally had enough, he helped Anders to the bathroom. He held the hair back out of his face, and rubbed his back, making soothing little sounds under his breath as Anders vomited into the toilet bowl. When he’d stopped retching, Sebastian ran warm water into the basin, and wiped the blood and tears from his face.

“You shouldn’t make me hurt you, love. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

He sank to his knees in front of Anders, an almost imperceptible tremor in his hands as he took a wet cloth, and gently washed the filth from Anders’ legs.

“Things will be better, now it’s just the two of us again. I’ll look after you properly…”

Anders was shaking violently; unable to control the shivers that tore through his body. He felt dazed and empty, hollowed out by despair. Sebastian wrapped a dressing gown around his shoulders. He held him close, stroked his sweat-soaked hair. “Do you want me to get you your pills?” he asked, and Anders nodded feebly against his chest, unable to force himself to speak. He felt as if his mouth had been stitched shut; couldn’t imagine ever opening it again without screaming. 

When Sebastian left the room he sank to the floor, curling miserably around the dull pain that clawed at his insides. He pressed his burning face to the cold marble and closed his eyes, and as he started to drift, he imagined he heard Garrett Hawke calling his name.

***

Hawke parked the car just inside the gate, with Sebastian’s driver still bound and gagged in the boot. Tattered wisps of indigo cloud; a sliver of moonlight sharp as a blade. He led his companions through the shadows at the edge of the trees, towards the house. Fenris was soft footed, quiet as a cat. Varric mumbled under his breath, until a harsh cry echoed out through the stillness, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“What the…” 

“Birds,” Garrett muttered. “Sebastian’s pets.” The sound sent a shiver through him, all the same.

There was a scatter of gravel, shockingly loud in the moonlit hush of the gardens, and a rustle of leaves from the bushes at the side of the path  
“Oh, I forgot to mention; there’s a guard dog,” he said, as the huge ball of muscle and fur and teeth came barrelling out of the darkness towards them. The Mastiff launched himself straight at Garrett, his stumpy tail wagging furiously as he jumped up to lick the man’s face.

“Not a very effective guard dog,” Fenris observed.

“If I wasn’t here he’d have your arm off by now. We’re mates, aren’t we Hunter.” Garrett bent down to pet the animal, ruffling the short velvety hair behind his ears. “You’re a good boy. You’re going to be nice and quiet for us, aren’t you?”

They were close to the side of the house now. Garrett could see that there were lights on all the way through the building. He shrank back into the shadows, his hand gripping Hunter’s collar. “We need to work out where they are,” he said. “I want to get Sebastian on his own, if I can.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Hawke,” Varric grumbled.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I haven’t had time to think it through properly. But I’m not leaving without Anders.”

He felt the fleeting touch of a gloved hand against his arm. “We will do whatever it takes,” Fenris reassured him.

Hawke’s lips were dry; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, the back of his teeth. With every breath, his chest seemed to tighten, until it felt almost impossible to suck enough oxygen from air. Finally, after an age of waiting, a shadow moved across the kitchen window. “It’s Sebastian,” Hawke whispered. He handed Varric the gun. “Do you think you can keep him occupied for me, while I talk to Anders?”

Varric grinned, his teeth showing fierce and white in the darkness. “Lead the way, champ.”

*  
Garrett heard the raised voices from the kitchen as his companions burst into the room, but he didn’t wait around to hear what was being said. He ran through the echoing hallway and up the sweeping curve of the stairs, his heart pounding.

“Anders…” 

The master bedroom was empty. The sheets had been stripped from the bed and dumped in a heap on the floor; the air was thick and foul. He called out again, more desperately this time. 

The bathroom door was slightly ajar; a narrow strip of yellow light showing around the edge Hawke eased it slowly open.

He thought it was blood at first, the red that trailed from Anders’ wrist. It took an impossibly long few seconds for his mind to take in what he was seeing, and then it hit him all at once; the sour smell of vomit that hung in the air, the towel streaked with blood and shit, discarded on the floor. 

He was too late.

Anders stared up at him, his face ugly with shock and disbelief. 

“Oh sweetheart…” He sank to his knees on the marble tiles and took Anders in his arms, holding him tight. “I’m so sorry love.” 

Anders clutched at him, his hands curled into claws, fingers digging in hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. “Sebastian…” His voice was a frightened whisper.  
“It’s all right, my friends are with him,” Garrett tried to reassure him. He clasped Anders tight to his chest, rocking him gently, and thought that he had never held anything so impossibly precious in his life. The realisation terrified him. He didn’t know how he could ever bear to let go.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

Anders nodded.

“Ok, I need you to get dressed, sweetheart. Get anything you can’t leave behind, and then wait for me in the bedroom. Do you understand?” 

“Ok.”

He untied the strip of fabric from Anders’ wrist, his fingers slick and fumbling, and helped him slowly to his feet and into the bedroom, horrified by the stiff, laborious way he moved and the pain that flickered across his face. He tried not to see the brownish patch of blood that stained the mattress, as he helped him sit down on the bed. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about that now; couldn’t risk it. 

“Don’t leave me.” Anders gripped his shirt; panic glittering in the whites of his eyes.

“I won’t be long love, I promise. Just stay here until I come back, ok?”

“Please…” 

“I’m sorry, love. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Garrett tried to smile, and felt the muscles in his face twitch grotesquely. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to steady it. “It’ll be all right,” he promised.

Outside the room, he stumbled and almost fell. The sight of Anders lying bloodied and broken on the floor had been almost more than he could bear, and everything in him screamed for revenge. He wanted to gut Sebastian Vael like an animal, to rip him apart and feel the blood splash warm over his bare hands.  
He leaned back against the wall to steady himself. He knew he couldn’t afford to lose control - he’d dragged Fenris and Varric into this, and he owed it to them to handle it sensibly. He owed it to Anders too. The last thing any of them needed was a dead celebrity on their hands.

Hawke was suddenly struck by the overwhelming foolishness of what he was doing. He didn’t even know what he was going to say to Sebastian, but if he wanted to keep Anders safe, he was going to have to make some sort of a deal with the man, however distasteful the idea was.  
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he headed back downstairs to look for the others.

He found them in Sebastian’s study. Sebastian seemed perfectly relaxed, sitting back comfortably in one of the deep leather chairs. Varric sat facing him, the gun held loosely in one hand, resting almost casually on his knee, and behind him, Fenris leaned against the corner of the desk, poised and deadly, the knife glinting silver in his hand.

If Sebastian was shocked to see Hawke back from the dead, he showed no sign of it.

“There’s money in the safe on the wall, behind the picture,” he drawled, as Hawke entered the room. “But I expect you already know that, don’t you Garrett?”

“I don’t want your money, Vael.” Garrett reached out to take the gun from Varric. The weight of it against his palm was comforting. 

“Don’t you?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “I know what you are, Garrett,” he said. “You’re just a hired thug; another hungry fucking Fereldan beggar, out for whatever you can get. You can take what’s in the safe and go, and I’ll say no more about it.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Anders.”

Sebastian’s laugh was as sharp as a dagger. Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett saw Fenris tense and shift his grip on the blade, the knuckles showing white against his skin. 

“Surely you’re not that naïve?” Sebastian sneered. “Anders doesn’t want you. He’s using you, Garrett; he’s playing you for his own ends. He wants to get away, and he needs you to help him.”

Garrett Hawke was a liar; he knew the shape lies made on his lips, the taste of them on the tip of his tongue. He knew when someone was lying to him. His fingers tightened on the gun. “Of course he fucking wants to get away,” he said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “And you’re going to let him go.”  
Sebastian leaned back in his chair. His carefully amused expression was beginning to wear thin now, the strain showing in the lines around his eyes. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone knows that you blackmailed Goran Vael and drove him to suicide.”

Garrett heard Varric make a surprised little sound beneath his breath. He pulled the crumpled papers from his pocket and held them so that Vael could see what they were. The palms of his hands were slick with sweat. He hadn’t had the chance to think any of this through properly, and it seemed laughable now; the absurdity of trying to blackmail a blackmailer.

“I’ve made copies of Goran’s note and the photographs,” he bluffed. “The people I’ve sent them to have got strict instructions - if anything happens to me, or to one of them, the others all go straight to the police.” He grinned, and hoped it looked even half as crazy as he thought it did. “You’d better hope none of them die in a freak accident any time soon, or you’ll be fucked,” he said.

Sebastian studied him through narrowed eyes like splinters of sapphire.

“I don’t believe you,” he said calmly. “Anders is up to his neck in it. You wouldn’t do anything that would hurt him.”

 _Fuck._ Garrett wished he’d had more time to think. He felt a rising sense of panic and desperation, his already tenuous grip on the situation slipping beneath his sweaty fingers.

“Anders will swear that you forced him into it,” he said.

Sebastian laughed again. “Is that what he told you?” 

Hawke shoved the photograph towards Sebastian’s face. “Does it look like he’s fucking enjoying it?”

“No…”

The word was barely more than a whisper, but the anguish in it seemed to echo through the room. Garrett turned to where Anders stood in the doorway, fragile and stricken, his face the colour of ashes and old bone. 

“Anders, I’m so sorry…”

“Is that why you want him, Garrett?” Sebastian sneered. “Because you’ve seen what a good little whore he is?”

“You bastard.” Anders threw himself at Sebastian, grabbing him by his shirt and dragging him to the floor. Sebastian appeared to caught completely off guard; he made no attempt to defend himself as Anders struck him, his fists smashing repeatedly into the man’s face. Crimson sprayed from Sebastian’s lips.

Hawke watched in shocked silence, unable to move. It was Fenris who stepped forward, crouching down to touch Anders on the shoulder. He spoke to him softly, and Anders’ slumped forward weakly, the fight draining out of him all at once. He sobbed and got shakily to his feet, stumbling backwards into Hawke’s arms.

Fenris leaned over the bloodied, gasping man, and the blade seemed to flash in his hand as he pressed it to Sebastian’s throat. 

“My friends no doubt have reasons for not killing you, Vael, but believe me, if they wished you dead I would take pleasure in paring the flesh from your bones.”  
Scarlet beaded beneath the tip of the knife, trickled in a thin line down Sebastian’s throat. Fenris’ eyes were pitiless.

“You will let him go.”

Sebastian nodded feebly. When Fenris stepped back, he struggled to his hands and knees, and reached out a hand towards Anders. Blood dripped from the ends of his hair. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were red.

“Don’t go Anders. Please don’t leave me,” he begged.

Anders turned away, into Garrett’s embrace. “Goodbye, Sebastian,” he said.

***  
Varric swore under his breath all the way back to Kirkwall. No one else spoke. Anders huddled in the back seat, Hawke’s arms wrapped protectively around him. By the time they reached the Hanged man, he seemed completely withdrawn, Garrett thought he looked smaller somehow; out of place in the shabby, familiar room. He asked in a whisper if he could lie down, and Garrett showed him to Varric’s bedroom, leaving reluctantly when Anders insisted he wanted to be on his own.

He felt lost. He’d been so focused on getting Anders safely away from Sebastian, he hadn’t thought about afterwards. Garrett felt a fierce, instinctive need to look after the man, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what Anders needed from him.

Varric poured thick black coffee into a mug and shoved it towards him. “There you go champ; strong and sweet, just like me.” He cleared a space on the table for two more mugs and a bottle of Corff’s rotgut whiskey. ”I’ve got a feeling we won’t be getting much sleep tonight,” he said. 

Hawke sank into a chair and put his head in his hands, overcome by a sense of bitter failure. He hadn’t been in time to protect Anders. He remembered how powerless he’d felt against Sebastian, and how, in the end, the threat of violence had proved far more effective than anything he had said or done. 

He wished he’d at least had the satisfaction of hitting the bastard while he had the chance.

“You’re a damned nuisance Hawke.” Varric sat down beside him, rubbing the back of his neck wearily.

“Yeah… sorry Varric.” Garrett wondered why Varric was being so helpful, when he had every right to be livid. He’d half expected to end up on the run from Varric as well as Sebastian. Not that he was ungrateful or anything.

“Don’t worry about it. Right, I’m going to try to sort out some ID for Blondie, and then we’ll get the pair of you as far away from Kirkwall as possible. How do you feel about going back to Ferelden? I hear they’re doing a good job rebuilding the place.”

“I don’t know.” Garrett was having trouble concentrating. He glanced towards the bedroom door.

Varric splashed a generous shot of whiskey into his mug. “Let him rest, Hawke; he’s exhausted.”

Garrett shook his head. “He was in a pretty bad way when I found him. Sebastian…” 

“I will talk to him,” Fenris got up abruptly, and disappeared into the bedroom before Hawke had a chance to protest.

Anders was lying curled on his side facing the door, with Varric’s garish quilt pulled up to his chin. Dark purple bruises blossomed beneath his eyes, in stark contrast to the sickly pallor of his skin.

“Hawke is worried about you,” Fenris said.

Anders seemed to shrink further into the bed. “I don’t want to see him,” he mumbled. “I can’t.” 

“I understand.” Fenris pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down, pale hair sweeping over his face, obscuring his eyes. “But he is concerned. He cares about you very much.”

“How can he?” Anders’ face twisted in revulsion. “He’s seen what I am, now. How can he care about… _that?”_

Fenris’ voice was measured and calm. “We are not the things that are done to us,” he said.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, not easy. It’s never been that.”

Anders looked up at him. The words Fenris had spoken earlier that night in Sebastian’s study came back to him. “What happened to you?” he asked hesitantly.

”I was… involved with someone, a few years ago.” Fenris averted his eyes as he spoke, fixing his gaze on his hands; the scarred knuckles, the torn and ragged nails. “He liked to be in control. I thought I had limits, boundaries… but he kept pushing at them, so subtly I didn’t even see it at first.” A bitter, stillborn little laugh burst from his lips. “I was in love with him, and by the time I realised what was happening, it had gone too far.”

Without looking up, he unbuttoned his shirt to show the twisted ropes of thick scar tissue that wove like vines around his chest. 

“After he gave me these, I ran. He followed me here to Kirkwall.” Fenris paused, and when he spoke again, there was no trace of emotion in his voice.

“I killed him.”

“I’m sorry.” Anders looked up at him, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Then perhaps you could spare a little sympathy for yourself,” Fenris said gently.  
There was a soft tap, and Garrett stood in the doorway, looking oddly uncomfortable.  
“I should go,” Fenris stood up. “It’s almost daylight. I need to take Sebastian’s car and leave it in Hightown, before there are too many people about.” He touched Anders’ shoulder lightly in parting. “You can trust Hawke; he will understand,” he said.

“Talking about me behind my back again?” Garrett forced a smile that felt like something breaking. The dark bruises on Anders’ face, the marks that circled his wrists. Reminders that he’d failed.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, when Fenris had closed the door behind him.

“You,” Anders said softly. “I need you, Garrett.” 

“I’m here, love.” Garrett sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for Anders’ hand. Bird bones, the knuckles scraped and raw, brownish crescents of dried blood still visible under the nails.

“Your friend Fenris….” Anders said.

“I’m sorry; I know he can be a bit strange.”

“No.” Anders hesitated; it seemed an odd thing to say, when his introduction to the man had involved a knife at someone’s throat and the threat of violence. “He’s very kind.”

“He has his moments,” Garrett agreed. “What did he say to you, in Sebastian’s study?”

“He said that if I killed Sebastian, I would never be free.” Anders’ voice was small and hushed, and Hawke felt a chill through his veins, as he wondered how Fenris had come by that particular insight.

“Will you lay down next to me?” Anders pulled back the quilt, shifting slightly to make room beside him, and Garrett climbed in. The warmth of the bed dragged him under; he felt lightheaded with exhaustion.

“We’re going somewhere safe tomorrow. Varric’s sorting it out,” he said. “You should try to sleep.”

“I don’t think I can.”

Anders was so close. There was something almost frightening about it; Garrett didn’t know how to feel. Anders’ eyes were stunned, full of shadows; his fingertips stroked Garrett’s face, soft and hesitant, as if he didn’t quite believe it was real. 

“I thought you were dead.”

“I would have been, if Sebastian had his way.” The reality of the night’s events suddenly caught up with him in a rush, and he felt tears burning at the back of his eyes. He buried his face in the bright tangle of Anders hair. “I’m sorry love; I let you down.”

“No, you didn’t.” Anders pulled him closer. “You came back for me.”

A hazy grey light had begun to creep through the gap between the curtains, and outside the city was waking. Anders curled beside him, more asleep than awake; one hand fisted in Garrett’s shirt, all bruises and raw bones and tangled sweaty hair.  
Hawke wondered where they would be when the darkness fell again.

The world had changed around them; it was full of new uncertainties, a different set of rules to learn. He felt a strange little fluttering sensation in his chest as he thought about it. 

He’d always liked a challenge.

Anders closed his eyes, and Hawke tightened his arms around him; watching over him, keeping him safe as the long night drew to an end.


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

Anders couldn’t breathe.

He struggled, felt the pull of the straps, the bite of rope against his skin. Something was different this time. The tranquiliser Sebastian mixed with his drink usually took the edge off, made everything distant and dreamlike, almost as if he was out of his body. He never felt the bruises until the next day.

Goran always told him he bruised so prettily.

Thinking about it made his skin crawl, and he squirmed, tensing against his restraints. He’d wanted to do this - he’d meant it when he told Sebastian he’d do anything for him. But the drugs weren’t working, and everything felt wrong. He swallowed hard, and tasted fear in the back of his throat like blood. He tried to tell himself it would be ok. It was the last time. He just had to try and relax.

Sensing movement at the periphery of his vision, he twisted his head to see Goran Vael watching him closely, his blue eyes febrile and glittering.

Tattered wisps of memory blown like smoke; the slick of sweat on leather, the hollow echo of his own voice inside his skull. Anders felt his resolve disintegrating. He hadn’t expected to be so afraid. He opened his mouth to call out for Sebastian, but the words came out as a helpless whimper.

“Nice and quiet now… there’s a good boy.” Goran Vael leaned over him, breath hot against his face.  Anders tried to cry out again, the dry skin of his lips splitting beneath indifferent fingers as the filthy gag was forced between his teeth.  He choked and gagged, tears streaming down his cheeks.

_Oh God please..._

He didn’t want to do this. If Sebastian was watching, surely he could see that? Why didn’t he come?

Why didn’t he make him stop?

Goran's fingers twisted in his hair, forcing his head back painfully, and Anders jerked awake, gasping, his heart pounding violently, a cry caught like a knot in his throat.

For some reason, it was Goran who haunted his nightmares the most. Maybe the memories of Sebastian were still too recent; too raw to face, even in his dreams. He lay still, blinking in the darkness, letting the sound of the ocean wash over him until his breathing gradually slowed and grew less ragged. Sweat dried cold on the back of his neck.

 When his heartbeat had become less frantic, he got out of bed and padded barefoot across the narrow hallway towards the  faint glow of lamplight that shone from beneath the door of Garrett's bedroom.

 “Bad dreams?” Garrett put down the book he’d been reading and pulled back the blanket, inviting Anders to climb in beside him.

 Anders nodded mutely.  

 “Want to watch TV for a bit?”

 “Mmm.” The narrow bed was arm and welcoming, and Anders curled in close, slowly relaxing into the comfort and safety of Hawke’s arms.

 Garrett had insisted they have their own separate rooms. Anders needed his own space, he said: somewhere private. Anders didn’t see the point. Most nights they ended up like this anyway, squashed together in Hawke’s slightly too small bed.

 Garrett pointed the remote and the TV flickered on; soothing flicker of light and shade, the low murmur of voices. Anders nuzzled his head against Garrett’s chest, felt his heart beating, strong and steady, beneath the skin.  He loved being close to him like this; sleeping beside him, waking up tangled in his embrace. It made him feel safe.

 He closed his eyes and drifted, and dreamed again.

 *

 It was early when Garrett woke; a watery half-light seeping in around the edges of the blind, painting the room in muted shades of grey. Anders was still curled in his arms, loose blond hair tickling his face. He touched his lips to the sleeping man’s hair, breathing the scents of sweat and warm skin.

 Anders murmured something in his sleep and stirred. The curve of his backside brushed Garrett’s crotch as he moved, and Garrett’s breath caught in his throat. It felt so unbelievably good to be pressed up close against him like this. He ached to be closer still, to lose himself in a haze of warmth and touch and soft, sleepy skin.

 His cock stirred at the thought, his lazy morning erection growing more insistent, swelling thick and heavy against his thigh. Stifling a groan, Garrett slid out from under the covers, shivering slightly as the chilly air hit his skin. He pulled on sweatpants and a hooded top, and went into the kitchen. The computer screen on the worktop flickered; grainy images of rusty iron railings, concrete steps; an empty road against a washed out sky. Satisfied that the cameras all seemed to be working properly, he scribbled a note for Anders and locked the door behind him as he headed out to the beach.

 Grey sea and grey sky. He made his way carefully down the steep, worn steps that led  to the beach. The endless crash of the waves against the rocky Fereldan shore filled his head like a heartbeat, like the roar of blood through his veins. The air was thick with the smell of rotting seaweed.

 Garrett ran, feeling the strain in his calves and thighs as his feet pounded against the loose stones.

 It wasn’t exactly the sunkissed tropical beach he’d imagined himself on a year ago. Those fantasies were all but forgotten now; as distant and unimaginable as someone else’s dreams.  He didn’t mourn the loss of them, but at the same time, he’d never pictured a future like this; holed up in the middle of nowhere; sleeping with a gun by the side of the bed.

 Sebastian’s shadow still hung over them like a cloud. Anders was fragile and paranoid, dogged by nightmares. For the first few weeks after they arrived, he'd barely left the house, and Garrett was afraid he’d simply swapped one prison for another.

 He didn't know what to do to make things right.

 Sweat dripped from Garrett’s hair into his eyes. He wiped it away with his sleeve, and turned back towards the house.

 *

 The air in the tiny kitchen was thick with steam. Anders stood guard over a spitting pan of sausages and mushrooms, poking at them with a fork.

 “Something smells good.”

 “I thought you’d be hungry.” Anders’ smile still had a brittle, nervous quality to it at times that made Garrett suspect he was trying too hard. He wrapped his arms loosely around the man's slender waist, resting his head against his shoulder.

 “What did I do to deserve this?” he asked teasingly.

 Anders didn’t reply. He twisted round to face Garrett, leaning in closely, so that their foreheads and the tips of the tips of their noses were touching, one hand coming up to caress the thick stubble that darkened Garrett’s cheeks.

 “Are you going to shave it off?” he asked.

 “I haven’t decided yet.”

 “Don’t.”  Anders curled his hand around the back of Hawke’s neck. “I like it.”

 His hair was still damp from the shower, and the scent of his shampoo clung to it; citrus, and sunshine on fresh green leaves. Garrett was suddenly very aware of how close they were, and of how much he wanted to slide his hands beneath the other man’s shirt, feel the hard curve of his ribs beneath his thumbs, the silk of his skin, the bones of him. He backed away slightly, discomforted by the hunger that rose in him, the hard ache in his belly.

 Anders never talked about Sebastian, and Garrett couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d been through. As much as he longed for more than the kisses and soft caresses they shared, the thought of doing anything that might remind Anders of his abuser sickened him.

 He swore he would never be like Sebastian.

  If this was all they ever had, it would be enough.

 He kissed Anders lightly on the lips, about to gently untangle himself from the embrace,  when he felt Anders stiffen against him, his muscles suddenly taut with suppressed panic.

 “Garrett… someone’s coming.”

 Garrett turned to look at the computer screen. A familiar stocky figure was making his way along the overgrown path, his long coat flapping in the breeze.

 “It’s Varric.”  Garrett grinned. He rushed outside, almost knocking the shorter man off his feet as he pulled him into an awkward hug.

 “Take it easy Hawke…”   Varric’s gruff tone was at odds with the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “This coat cost me a fortune, I don't want it getting all creased up.”

 “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” Garrett took Varric's bag, and led him towards the house. “Are you staying?”

 Varric shook his head. “Just passing through.” He glanced around the kitchen, his nostrils twitching as he took in the freshly made coffee, the breakfast sizzling on the stove. “Looks like my timing is as impeccable as ever,” he said.

 Anders, hovering uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen, tried his best to smile.

 “It’s good to see you, Blondie.” Varric grasped Anders’ hand in both of his and shook it warmly, pretending not to notice the way the muscles twitched beneath his skin at the contact; the effort it took him not to pull away.

 “So, how are things in Kirkwall?” Garrett asked.

 “Chaotic, as usual.” Varric grinned. He pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable at the table, as Hawke poured steaming coffee into three mugs. “Your ma sends her love.”

 Garrett felt a twinge of guilt at the mention of his mother. He’d planned to use some of the money from the job to help her and Bethany, and now it felt as if he’d abandoned them with barely a thought.

 “Is she ok?” he asked. “How’s Beth?”

 “They’re both fine. I’ve been keeping an eye on them for you - they’re moving up in the world,; renting an apartment on the edge of Hightown. Beth’s planning on going to college.”

 “How can they afford that?”

 Varric shrugged. “I guess something must have turned up,” he said mysteriously.

 “Sorry, I need some air.” Anders picked up his cigarettes from the table, placing one between his lips and then shoving the pack down into his pocket.  He took a knitted hat from a hook near the door, and tugged it down over his hair.

 “I’m going for a walk,” he said.

 “Are you sure?”  Garrett frowned. Anders rarely went out on his own, never venturing further than the beach.

 Anders nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “You two need to catch up.”

 He closed the door behind him. An uneasy silence seemed to echo through the tiny room, filling the space where he’d been. Garrett broke it by getting up and going over to the stove. He dished the breakfast up onto a plate and put it down in front of Varric.

 “How is he?” Varric asked.

 Garrett thought about the nightmares, the shakes that sometimes racked Anders body so violently he couldn’t speak. He shook his head. “Not good,” he said.

 “It’s early days, Hawke: give him time.”

 “I knew it wouldn’t be easy…”  Garrett sighed, and rubbed a hand across his eyes.  “What are you doing here Varric? You don’t usually leave the city unless you have to. I always assumed you were allergic to fresh air.”

 “I’ve got something for you.”  Varric picked up the heavy leather bag and put it on the table.

 “Is it Sebastian’s head in a box, by any chance?”

 Varric chuckled. “I always said you watch too many movies.”  He took a key from his coat pocket and unlocked the small padlock fitted to the zip of the bag, his broad fingers uncharacteristically clumsy as he tugged at the fastening.

 The bag fell open, and Hawke stared in shock at the thick wads of banknotes that spilled out onto the table.  When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.

 “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

 “Everything was set up -  It would have been criminal to let all that work go to waste.” Varric’s smile had something wolfish about it. “There’s more, when i can figure out how to get it to you.”

 “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Garrett’s head reeled. His vision narrowed, the room seeming to shrink  around him, blurring darkly around the edges. Before he knew what was happening, he was on his feet, grabbing Varric by the collar of his coat, his chair falling to the ground as he dragged the other man up out of his seat.

 “If you’ve put Anders in danger I’ll rip you apart,” he snarled.

 “Calm down, Hawke…”

 “Like fuck I’m going to calm down!” Still gripping his collar, Garrett shoved Varric back against the kitchen counter. ”You think Sebastian’s not going to realise we had something to do with this?  You think he’s not going to come after his fucking money?”

 “Credit me with some common sense, will you?” Sweat beaded on Varric’s forehead, but his voice was smooth and even. An image flashed into Hawke's mind, of himself from the outside; teeth bared, white knuckled fingers twisted like roots in the fabric of Varric’s coat. He let go abruptly and stepped back, fear and adrenaline still screaming through his frayed nerves.

 Varric straightened his clothes. He picked his chair up from the floor and sat back down, running a hand through his hair to straighten it.

 “In answer to your question, no, I don’t think Sebastian’s going to come after his money,” he said.” I suspect he’s got other things on his mind right now.”

 Garrett was breathing heavily. He didn’t know what to do with himself.  Varric might be dodgy as fuck, but he was always meticulously careful; he didn’t take unnecessary risks, and Garrett had trusted him with his life on more than one occasion. This time though,  there was more than just his life at stake.

 “Sit down, Hawke, you’re making me nervous.” Varric pushed the mug of coffee towards him, but Garrett ignored it. The sight of the food going cold on the plates in front of him turned his stomach.

 “You'd better have a fucking good explanation for this,” he said.

 “I don't know about good; that's sort of a subjective term...” Varric shrugged. He took a sip of his coffee, and pushed it away with a grimace. “Vael's a first class piece of shit, Hawke.”

 “I think i'm aware of that.”

 The other man shook his head. “You’ve got no idea. When I was going through his finances, I found a lot of weird stuff that didn't add up. For a start, Sebastian is listed as a director for several of the charities Starkhaven donates to. He doesn't just give them money; he also pays himself a fortune in bonuses.”

 “Some sort of tax dodge?”

 “That’s what I assumed at first, but then I poked around a bit more. It's bigger than that, Hawke. It's not just Vael – all the top brass at Starkhaven are doing the same thing. Money moves back and forward between their various companies like they're playing pass the goddamn parcel.”

 Garrett looked at him blankly.

 “Money laundering,” Varric explained. “They’re making sure millions of sovereigns disappear without a trace.”

 “I don’t understand.”

 “Trust me; you’re better off that way. There’s stuff going on at Starkhaven that would turn your hair white.” Varric lowered his voice, as if even here in the middle of nowhere,  there was a danger he might be overheard.

 “I hacked into Starkhaven's network. The company’s a pit of snakes, Hawke; there was shady shit going on there long before Sebastian took over. Goran Vael had more to worry about than his sexual proclivities making the front page of the tabloids, believe me.”

 Hawke thought of Vael’s last bitter message.  He couldn’t help wondering if Sebastian had any idea what he was getting into when he took his cousin’s place at Starkhaven. Maybe Goran had got some measure of revenge after all.

 “So Sebastian’s some kind of big time criminal,” he said. “ Maybe I’m stupid, but I don’t see how that’s supposed to reassure me?”

 “Because Sebastian Vael has a lot more to lose than a bunch of money he’s not even supposed to have.” Varric leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile flickering at the corners of his lips. “I’ve got a feeling that some of those internet rumors might be about to resurface with a vengeance in the next few days,” he said.

 “What makes you think that?”

 Varric shrugged. “It’s just a hunch.”

 Garrett knew from experience that Varric’s ‘hunches’ were never just that. If Starkhaven’s shit really was about to hit the fan, Garrett was pretty sure his friend had something to do with it.

 He rubbed his face wearily, not knowing what to think. Despite his many and varied criminal activities, Varric had been an odd source of stability in Hawke’s life over the past few years. Garrett had been just another poor refugee struggling to get by in a hostile city, when Varric had taken him under his wing.

 He wanted to trust him, but there was so much at stake. Trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

 “The money’s yours, Hawke; you can use it to paper the walls for all I care.” Varric got to his feet, brushing the creases from his coat. “I’ve got to run. I’m meeting Isabela up the coast; we’re planning a little vacation. ” He gripped Garrett's shoulder in a farewell gesture, and when he spoke again there was a hint of sadness in his voice.

 “Take care of yourself, ok champ?”

 Garrett nodded. He watched on the monitor as Varric disappeared into the distance. When he’d gone, he stared numbly at the contents of the bag, wondering how he was going to explain the money to Anders. Lying to him, even to spare his feelings or protect him, wasn’t an option. There had been too many lies, too many secrets and things left unsaid.

 He wasn't sure how long he’d sat there, lost in thought, before the sound of footsteps on the path outside made him glance up again. Anders stood by the edge of the cliff, framed precariously against the clouds and the iron dark sea. The tip of his cigarette glowed as he dragged on it, white smoke blowing away on the wind. He looked so small against the vastness of the ocean, so frail and exposed. Garrett's chest tightened in fear at the thought of hurting him. He got up to go to him.

 Anders looked up as he approached. He dropped his cigarette, and ground it out beneath the sole of his boot, sending sparks flying.

 “Seeing Varric again... it brought it all back,” he said.  “I just couldn’t… I’m sorry.”

 “It’s all right, love. I guessed it was something like that.” Hawke stroked Anders back lightly, the palm of his hand circling lightly over his spine. He reached for his hand.  “Let's go inside,” he said.  “I need to talk to you.”

 Anders eyes widened in shock as he took in Varric's bag on the kitchen table, the thick wads of banknotes spilling out among the plates of untouched food.

“Did we win the lottery?“ His tone was flippant, but his eyes immediately grew shadowed and wary.

 “I’m sorry,” Garrett said. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. It was too dangerous.”

“Tell me what?”

 Garrett took a deep breath.  “I’m not who you think i am, Anders. I'm not a good person - I’m a con man, a thief. I took the job with Sebastian so that I could get information on him.”

 He watched Anders' face closely as he spoke, saw the brief flicker of confusion in his amber eyes.

 “I knew there was something,” he said. “You broke into the safe…”

 “I wanted to tell you then,” Garrett said. “I really was looking for a way to keep you safe. I didn’t lie about that.”

 Anders nodded. “What happened?”

 “When it came to it, you were more important than the money.” Garrett explained. “I told Varric the job was off, but apparently he had other ideas. I didn’t know he was going ahead with it, Anders, i swear.”

 “This is Sebastian’s money?”

 “I’m sorry, love.” He wanted to say something to make it better, but there was nothing to say, no comfort to offer that wasn't a lie.

 Anders rubbed anxiously at the ugly scar on his wrist, no longer hidden away beneath silver chains and scraps of lace. “You know he’s going to come after it, don’t you?”

 “Varric seems to think he won't.”

 “What the fuck does Varric know about it?” Anders' voice rose, an edge of hysteria creeping into it. ”I'll go back to him,” he said desperately. “If I go back and take the money with me, I might be able to persuade him to leave you alone.”

 “Don’t talk like that, love, please…” Garrett reacted in panic, grabbing Anders by the arms, far more roughly than he'd intended. Guilt flooded through him as he realised what he’d done, and he loosened his grip abruptly and took a step backwards.

 “I’m sorry…”

 "It's ok." Anders flushed red. “I don’t mind you touching me,” he said hesitantly. “I like it."

 Hawke had always found it difficult to admit to being afraid. Ever since he’d arrived in Kirkwall, with his mother and his sister and nothing more than the clothes on their backs, faking it had been second nature. That was all it took, most of the time - not letting himself think too much; not letting himself feel, until he was no longer certain where the lie ended and the truth began.

 Holding a gun to Sebastian Vael’s head had been easy, compared to letting Anders see how vulnerable he really was.

 “I’m scared, Anders,” he confessed. “Every time i touch you I’m terrified of hurting you, or pushing you away…”

 “You won’t.”

 “I don’t want to be like him.”

 Anders reached for Garrett’s hand, gently pulling him closer.  “You’re nothing like him.” He rested his head against Garrett’s shoulder, and Hawke felt burning at the back of his eyes. Anders trusted him. The knowledge flickered warm and bright in his chest, lending him strength. He closed his eyes tight, feeling the brush of Anders’ hair against his cheek. The smell of the ocean clung to him, and Garrett thought that if he kissed him now, his skin would taste of salt.

 “I wasn’t sure you wanted me.” Anders laugh was soft and shaky, a brief whisper of warm breath against Garretts neck, so soft it almost wasn’t there.

 "I want you so much it hurts,” Garrett admitted. ” It just… it doesn’t feel right, love. Not yet.”

 Anders nodded. His grip on Hawke’s hand tightened, fingers entwining with his. “Soon,” he whispered, and Garrett felt his breath catch in his throat, imagining a future where they would be safe, and where Anders would be happy and secure enough to love without fear. He desperately wanted to believe in it.

They would have to trust Varric now, they had no choice.

 

***

 

Garrett stashed the money in the cupboard under the stairs until they decided what to do. Even with it out of sight, they were constantly aware of it’s presence; it was like having a ticking bomb in the house.

 The news broke a week later. Anders often kept the television on all day, not really watching it, but comforted by the low buzz of voices in the background. The familiar name went through him like an electric shock, and he looked up to see Sebastian Vael, lit by a storm of flashbulbs and flanked by an army of stony faced men in suits. He must have cried out without realising, because Garrett was suddenly there beside him, fumbling with the volume on the remote control.

_“Starkhaven media boss Sebastian Vael faces questioning today following allegations that his company was involved in selling military grade communications technology to the Tevinter government. If the allegations are proven, Vael could face charges of treason.”_

 That was it; the entire item was less than a minute long. The newsreader moved on to the next story, leaving Anders frozen, one hand clasped to his mouth in disbelief.

 “I didn’t know…”

 Hawke sat down beside him. He almost couldn’t believe it himself.  Varric had hinted that Starkhaven were caught up in something big, but he’d assumed it would be some sort of financial misconduct, or a minor political scandal. He’d never imagined anything like this.

 He followed the story closely as it unfolded over the next few days. Tevinter was a hostile power, rumoured to be responsible for appalling human rights abuses, and almost constantly at war with one or more of their neighbouring states. Evidence had emerged that the satellite systems that guided Tevinter’s missiles had been designed by Starkhaven, and sold to them against the terms of an international trade embargo.

 Anders didn’t want to know anything about it. He stopped watching television, and refused to talk about the subject, and Garrett assumed the constant reminders of Sebastian were too painful.

 That evening Anders sat coiled nervously in an armchair, sipping neat gin from a mug. He’d been drinking steadily since dinner, and Garrett’s attempts to talk to him had been met with silence. He watched him uneasily from over the screen of his laptop, waiting, though he didn’t know what for.

 Anders looked up at him, and the glow from the electric fire lit up his face in gold.

 “Sebastian’s not really a bad person,” he said.

 The words shook Hawke. He couldn’t help himself. “How can you say that, after what he did to you?”

 “He wasn’t always like that, he changed after… what happened with Goran.”

 “The blackmail?”

 Anders shook his head. “It didn’t start out as blackmail.” He lowered his eyes, looking down at his hands wrapped tight around the mug, at the bitten nails and the scar that wound silver around the blue veins of his wrist.

 “Sebastian didn’t make me sleep with Goran,” he went on.” I wanted to do it.”

 “You don’t have to tell me,” Hawke reassured him. “Not if you don’t want to.”

 “Yes, I do. I want you to know.”

 Garrett nodded. _No more lies,_ he thought. He closed his laptop and shifted up to make space on the seat beside him.  “Come and sit with me.”  

 Anders shook his head. He pulled his knees up, hugging them tightly to his chest.

 “We both knew Goran wanted me,” he said. “ It was obvious from the way he looked at me.”

 He couldn’t even remember now, which of them had suggested it first. It had been one of those hazy late night conversations, when they were sleepy and sated, drunk on each other’s kisses. Anders curled contentedly in his lover’s arms as they whispered to each other in the dark, and somehow their talk had turned to Goran Vael, and the hunger that burned in those summer blue eyes that were so much like Sebastian’s.

 Sebastian had always been ambitious, and he courted Goran’s favour, eager to advance his position at Starkhaven. He enjoyed knowing he had something Goran wanted, and the feeling of power it gave him over his older, more important cousin.

 It wasn’t serious at first. They joked about it; how If Anders slept with Goran Vael, it might help Sebastian’s career. By the next day, the conversation felt like a dream. Anders was surprised when Sebastian brought the subject up again, talking as if it was something they’d already decided to do. It had felt unreal at the time, and Anders found himself going along with it. He was so in love with with Sebastian, it had seemed to make sense.

 “I’d have done anything to show him how much i loved him,” he said.

 Hawke reached out to take his hand, but he shrugged him off. “Don’t, Garrett. Don’t be nice to me, please. I won’t be able to go on if you’re nice.”

 He uncoiled himself stiffly from the chair, and walked over to the window. It was dark outside, and his reflection stared back at him; an illusion of light and shadow, mute and insubstantial.  He reached out, touching his hand to the shadowy image in the glass. It was easier somehow, talking to his own ghost.

 “Neither of us knew what Goran was really like,” he said. “He was cruel, sadistic…  It wasn’t so bad at first, but the longer it went on, the more he seemed to lose control. I managed to keep it hidden for a while, but when Sebastian saw what he did to me, the marks he left…  It was the first time I’d ever seen him really angry. I thought he was going to kill him.”

 Anders’ hands began to tremble, and he wrapped his arms around his chest. Hawke wanted to go to him, to take him in his arms and reassure him, but he knew Anders couldn’t handle being touched when he was like this. Even a kind word was sometimes more than he could bear. He listened in silence as Anders went on.

 “The blackmail was my idea,” Anders said.  He glanced up at Garrett in the dark mirror of the glass, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he carried on.

 “Sebastian wanted to make Goran pay, but it was me that came up with the plan to blackmail him. I was going to let him fuck me one last time and Sebastian would film it, and then we’d threaten Goran with exposure. He’d have to give Sebastian what he wanted.”

 It had seemed so easy, in theory. Anders closed his eyes against the memories; the ropes and straps, and the pain echoing through the ketamine fog, drifting back the next day like a half forgotten dream. All the things he’d done for Sebastian.

 “When it came to it, I changed my mind,” he said. “ I couldn’t do it. I thought Sebastian would see how scared i was. I thought he’d make him stop, but he didn’t.” A violent shudder went through him at the memory.

 “He _let_ him do it.” The pain was still there, in his voice; the feeling of betrayal that had been a hundred times worse than anything Goran could have done.

 “He couldn’t even look at me, afterwards. I think the only way he could live with himself was by telling himself that i'd wanted it, that i _liked_ it...”

 Garrett got up to go to him then.The need to be near to him and to offer him some sort of comfort was overwhelming; a pain that clawed at his chest. He reached out a hand and then let it fall again, afraid to touch him.

 “I’m so sorry love.”

 Anders shook his head. “You shouldn’t be. It’s all my fault.” He stood with his back to the window, shoulders pressed against the glass in an effort to still his trembling.”Everything that happened was my fault,” he said.

 Hawke was appalled. He couldn’t believe that even after everything he knew about Sebastian, Anders was still blaming himself. The bastard still had his claws in him.

 “You’re wrong,” he said, struggling to keep the anger from showing in his voice, though his hands shook with it. “I saw the files, remember? The photographs…  Sebastian knew exactly what Goran was like; he was photographing it the whole time. He might have let you believe it was your idea, but he was planning to blackmail Goran from the start.”

 Anders’ eyes widened as the impact of Garrett’s words sank in. He shrank back against the glass, as if he was trying to disappear through it, into the shadow world on the other side.

 “I’m sorry, love,” Hawke said gently. “If it’s any comfort, the stuff at Starkhaven was going on long before Sebastian took over. He probably had no idea what he was getting into.”

 “That doesn’t make it better.”

“No.”

 “I don’t know how to feel.” Anders let out a bleak little laugh. “I should be happy. We’re free now, aren’t we?” The tears streamed down his face.

 Garrett wasn’t sure they would ever really be free. Wherever they went, the past would go with them; it would wind around them like chains.  But maybe if they bore the weight together, the chains would gradually grow lighter.

 He wouldn’t let the past drag Anders under; not if he could help it. He’d do whatever it took to give him a future to believe in, something to cling to when the darkness threatened.

 He wiped the tears from Anders’ face.

 “We’re together,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”

 

****

 

  **Epilogue**

 

Anders leaned on the iron railing of the balcony, looking out at the pale stars, at the coloured lights strung like jewels from the trees, and the boats in the harbour, black against the black sky.

 He heard Garrett’s footsteps behind him, and smiled to himself, anticipating the gentle pressure of hands on his shoulders, soft lips against the top of his head.

 Laughter drifted up from the narrow street below, echoing off the stone walls. He leaned back into Hawke’s arms, shivering slightly at the tickle of his beard against the back of his neck.

 Out in the bay, the city lights reflected in the water, like sunken treasure shimmering up through the dark .

 “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”.

 Garrett pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his waist. “We could stay here, if you wanted,” he said. “ Settle down, maybe open a little bar by the harbour…  You could mix up those fancy cocktails of yours and give them suggestive names.”

 Anders laughed. He was starting to like the idea of settling down. He’d been restless, after they left Ferelden, unable to stay still for long. There had been a succession of  hotel rooms, in cities that all blurred into one; rented houses and cabins, islands and forests and windswept plains, but wherever he went, Garrett had been there beside him, holding him close through the long sleepless nights.

 After a while it stopped feeling like they were running away.

 There was a home for them somewhere, he thought, and a future. Until they found it, this was enough; the sky like black silk and the scent of lilacs, and the shining, spidersilk thing that bound them, strong enough to hold them together.

 He turned to face Garrett, burying his fingers in the dark tangle of his hair, feeling him smile as their lips met.

 They were going to be all right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
